820.3 
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BARNET’S 


COMUS AND CUPID 


SONGSTER: 


A SELECTION OF PIECES BOTH 


HUMOROUS AND LOVELY. 


CHICAGO: 


PRINTED BY J. BARNET, 
40 STATE STREET. 


HATO, rou ve 


REMARKS. 


COMUS AND CUPID 


: REQUIRE no apology at our hands in appearing 


to wield their potent sway over those who may 


_. possess this small volume, as Humor is fitly 


allied with Seriousness, and LOVE with the most 
sacred: thinipa of life. Laugh and yet be Lovely 
may bring us that joy which sweetens a cup 
with bitter dregs, and prove a remedy for. indi- 


gestion that doctors have not yet prescribed. 


Fast on the steps of Currp no doubt Comus 
came at the beginning of creation, for we cannot 
suppose that the most ancient Hebrew lacked 
his presence any more than the later and de- 


spised sons of Canaan, 


HOOOCYD 


The selfish an The beams of Love 

When Mirra draws near, . Will surely prove 
But ne’er fash, | Heay’nly gain, 

The Lavex will drown When Yours he knelt, 

Care’s ugly frown And their pow’r felt 
Wi’ a splash! - Without stain 


QBQODB 


BARNET’S 


COMUS & CUPID SONGSTER 


BOB O° THE BENT. 
AIR— Toddlin’ But and Toddlin’ Ben. 


Come a’ ye steeve tipplers and listen to me, 

An’ Ill shew you the upshot o’ John Barley bree. 
Ye’ll ablins be laith to gie up your bit drap, 
But I troth in the end you'll find craw in ye’r crap; 
Then scorn nae advice gi’en wi’ friendly intent, 
Tho’ it come frae the gab o’ auld Bob o’ the Bent. 


My faither, puir body, when death closed his een, 

Left me laird o’ the malin a’ stocket fu’ bein, 

Wi? three horses, twall kye, sax score toops an’ ewes, 

That friskit and fed on the heichs an’ the howes, 

Wi a gude clash o’ siller that drew sax per cent— 

Ther’ were few chiels could brank, then, wi’ Bob o’ the Bent. 


Spoken.—But when I got the bridle in my ain han’ I gaed on 
at a bonny carry. Ran to a’ fairs, markets, rockens, sacre- 
ments and weddins. Kent o’ naething but fill and fetch mair. 
Troth my neive was ne’er out 0’ my pooch, from June to Janu- 
ary, soe’er you would have said Jock Robinson, I had gane 
thro’ as muckle 0’ my daddie’s weel haint gear as micht hae 
been a gude nest.egg to ony cannie chiel a’ the days o’ his life. 
An’ mony a caution I got frae my mither too, puir body, wi’ 
the tear in her e’e. When I would be sittin’ hearin’ her, I saw 
thro’ my folly just as clear as a bead. But whenever her'back 
was turned, fare ye weel, Tammy Orr, there’s nae reforma- 
tion wi’ Bob. He’s just the auld saxpence, into the shuttle 
o’ the kist for another neivefu’ o’ siller, an’ awa’ to the near- 
est yill house to get a slocknen, or, as a body may rather ca’d, 
a kindlin’ o’ drouth; an’ there we would hae clawed awa’ at 
the bicker, till the mornin’ sun was blinkin’ ower the Shott 
knowes. 


6 


Sae wi? tipplin’ late and wi’ tipplin’ sune, 
My hale lyin’ siller I sune tippled dune. 


When to Glasco I gaed wi’ the butter and milk, 
I ne’er failed on the road frae-the auld naig to bilk, 
But would clatter and quaff till my siller gaed dune, 

. Syne gaed staggerin’ hame by the licht o’ the mune, 
While the beast toddled on, an’ aye hame for the scent, 
Leaving fate to tak’ charge o’ blythe Bob o’ the Bent. 


Spoken.—An’ mony a weary nicht I took the road my lane, 
reelin’ fu’, wi’ no a lichted house on a’ the road, exceptin’ the 
blink frae the reekin coal o’ somebody’s fire, that had nae shut- 
ter on the window; so there I gaed zig-zaging an’ hic-cup- 
ing awa’; whiles splashing@thro’ dubs; whiles tumblin’ o’er 
stanes; whiles reeling into a ditch or a hedge; an’ whiles stand- 
ing still a’ thegether, an’ fechtin wi’ the water brash,—bannin’ 
my folly, and forming strong resolutions ne’er to do the like 
again. Yod’ll ablins think that a fu’ body canno’ think; but 
after ane’s gane twall or fourteen mile upon a road, no’ to 
count on the side-cuttings on’t, he begins to draw his senses to- 
gether and think what he’s about, and form braw plans 0’ 
reformation too. But a’ the joyalty I got o’er the bicker wi’ 
twa three canty cronies ne’er had half the relish 

O? my ain dog’s bark and my ain cock’s craw, 
As I drew near my:hame when the day it did da’. 


But my siller grew dune an’ my credit grew sma’, 
An’ in time o’ maist need my best freens did withdraw, 
My servants they jouket; my-labor fell back, 

An’ I saw gane, I men’t nae, I’d soon gae to rack; 
But my head was licht an’ my brow was yet brent, 
An’ dull care coudna conjure blythe Bob o’ the Bent. 
>Twas Martimas before we our corn could get sawn; 
*Twas Lammas before we our hay could get mawn; 
Cauld winter at han’, an’ our corn was green, 

Aw’ our kirn we gat seldom before Halloween; 

Sae I fell ahint wi’ the mfnister’s stent— 

Forbodin’ destruction to Bob o’ the Bent. 


7 


Spoken.—But when I am gaun on in this manner, borrowing 
siller frae ane to pay anither, I’m down at Hamilton Coort ae 
day—a place o’ business at whilk I was beginnin’ to be gey 
weel kent, and appearin’ there aft’ner as defendant than plain- 
tiff. I had just settled my accounts wi’ my legal advisers,— 
a class 0’ gentlemen, by the by, that had me nae sooner out of 
ae scrape than they had me landed into anither, and I had, as 
usual, a dainty dreich sederant o’er a jug o’ toddy. I got up, 
staff in han’, pinched eneuch to keep the croon 0’ the causey. 
Weel, when I was gaun by an auld houff whar I had spent 
hunners 0’ pounds, tho’ noo I was beginning to be mair fash 
than profit tothem, I: heard the’ lanlady say, yonder’s Bob o’ 
the Bent comin’,—bar the door an’ keep him oot. Sae I just 
studied mysel’ on my staff a blink, an’ says to mysel’, aye! aye! 
is this a’ the gratitude o’ change keepers? The deil ane o’ your 
craft will bar the door on Bob o’ the Bent again. SaeI gaed 
straught hame to my bed, rose to my wark neist mornin’, an’ [ 
ha’e continued as straught as the sun inthe lift sinsyne. An’ I 
soon fan my things tak’ anither turn, an’ noo I hae cleared 
ilka boddle o’ debt. that was on my farm, an’ I can defy the 
warld to say that I’m awn a doit. 


Noo, I’ve plenty.o’ siller in purse an’ in pouch, 

An’ to nane o’ the warld for favor I’d crouch; 

I’ve braw peace 0’ mind an’ gude health to the boot, 

Tho’ I sour in the change keeper’s thrapples, like soot. 
- Let ilk chiel aff the road, then, that leads to content, 

Just gae tread the last footsteps 0’, Bob:o’ the Bent. 


GET UP AND BAR THH DOOR. 


It fell about the Mart’mas time, 
And a gay time it was then, O! 

When our gudewife had puddings to mak’, 
And she boiled them in the pan, O! 


The wind blew cauld frae north to south, 
And blew into the floor, O! é' 


8 


Quoth our gudeman to our gudewife, 
‘‘ Get up and bar the door, 0!” 


‘“‘ My hand is in my husswyfskip, 

Gudeman, as ye may see, O! 
- Aw it shouldna be barr’d this hundred year, 
It’s no be barr’d for me, O!”’ 


They made a paction ’tween them twa, . 
They made it firm and sure, O! 

-Whaever spak’ the foremost word, 

_ Should rise and bar the door, :O},; 


Then by there came twa gentlemen, 
At twelve o’clock at night, O! 

And they could neither see house nor ha’, 
Nor coal nor candle light, O! 


‘““Now, whether’s this a rich man’s house, 
Or whéether’s it a poor, 0?” 

But never a word wad ane o’ them site 
For barring o’ the door, O! 


And first they ate the white puddings, 

And then they ate the black, O! 
Tho’ muckle thought the gudewife to hersel’, 
' Yet ne’er a word she spak’,O! _ 


Then’said the ane unto the other, 
‘¢ Here, man, tak’ yemy knife, O! 
Do ye tak’ aff the auld man’s beard, 
And I'll kiss. the gudewife, 0!” . - 


‘t But there’s nae water in.the house, 
And what shall we do then, O!” 

‘¢ What ails you at the puddin’ broo, 
That boils into the pan, 0?” 


O! up then started our gudeman, 
And an angry man was he, O! .. 


9 


‘* Will ye kiss my wife before my e’en; 
And scaud me wi’ puddin’ bree, O!” 


Then up and started our gudewife, 
Gied three skips on the floor, O! ; 

“ Gudeman, y¢ve spoken the foremost word, 
Get up and bar the door, 0!” 


KATE DA°7RYMPLE. 
AIRn—Jingling Johnny. 


In a wee cot house, far across the muir, 
Whare peaseweeps, plovers, an’ whaaps cry dreary, 

There liv’d an’ auld maid for mony a lang year, 
Wham ne’er a wooer did e’er‘ca” deary. 

A lanely lass was Kate Da’rymple, 

A thrifty quean was Kate Da’rymple, 

Nae music, exceptin’ the burnie’s wimple, 

Was heard roun’ the dwellin’ o’ Kate Da’rymple. 


Her face had a smack o’ gruesome an’ grim, 
Whilk that frae the fash o’ a’ wooers did defend her, 
Her lang Roman nose nearly met wi’ her chin, 
That put folk in min’ o’ the auld Witch o’ Endor. 
A wiggle in her walk had Kate Da’rymple, 
A sneevil in her talk had Kate Da’rymple, 
An’ mony a carnelion and cairngorm pimple, 
Did shine on the dun face o’ Kate Da’rymple. 


She spun tarry woo’ the hale winter through, 
For Kate wasna lazy, but eident and thrifty ; 

She wrought ’mang the peats, coil’d the hay, shore the corn, 
An’ supported hersel’ by her ain hard shift aye: 

But ne’er a lover cam’ to Kate Da’rymple, 

For beauty an’ tocher wanted Kate Da’rymple, 

Unheeded was the lass by baith gentle an’ simple, 

A blank in the warld seem’d poor Kate Da’rymple. 


10 


But mony are the ups an’ the downs in life, 

When the dice-box o’ fate’s turned tapsalteerie ; 
Sae Kate fell heiress to a rich frien’s estate, — 

An’ nae langer for lovers had she cause to weary. 
The Squire cam’ a-wooin’ soon o’ Kate Da’rymple, 
-The priest, scrapin’, bowin’, fan’ #it Kate Da’rymple, 
An’ on ilk wooer’s face was seen love’s smilin’ dimple, 
Sae now she’s nae langer Kate—but Miss DALRYMPLE! 


Her wee cutty stool that she sat at her wheel, 

Is flung by for the saft gilded sofa sae gaudy! 
An’ now she’s grray’d in her silks and brocade, 

An’ can brank now for ruffs an’ muffs wi’ ony lady. 
Still, an unco fash to Kate Da’rymple, ~ 
Was dressing an’ party clash to Kate Da’rymple, 
She thought. a half-marrow, bred in line mair simple, 
Wad be a far fitter match for Kate Da’rymple. 


An’ aye she thought, as she sat by hersel’, 

She wad wed Willie Speedyspool, the sarkin weaver j 
An’ she to the lad the secret did tell, 

An’ for interest or love he did Cindiy relieve her. 
He brak a’ his treddles, then, for Kate Da’rymple, 
He brunt a’ his heddles, then, for Kate Da’rymple; 
Tho’ his right e’e did skelly, an’ his left leg did limple, 
He’s married noo, an’ bedded noo, wi’ Kate Da’rymple. 


THE TOCHER FOR ME. 


By CouLin SIEVWRIGHT. 
AIR— Come Under My Plaidie. 


Some pant for the lass wi’ the braw gowden guineas, 
An’ bonnie braid acres sae charming to see; 

But gi’e me the lass wi’ a heart in her bosom,— 
The mind o’ the maiden’s the tocher for me. 


1] 


The gowd might escape from my grasp in a moment, 
The bonnie braid acres sma’ pleasure might. gi’e; 
But tender affection’s an unfailing treasure,— 
The mind o’ the maiden’s the tocher for me. 


Some sigh for the lass wi’ the dimples an’ roses, 
The dark wavy ringlets an’ bonnie black e’e; 
But gi’e me the lass wi’ a heart leal an’ loving,— 
The mind o’ the maiden’s the tocher for me. 


For beauty will fade like the flowers o’ the simmer, 
When surly November rides over the lea; 

But kindness will bloom in the bosom for ever,— 
The mind o’ the maiden’s the tocher for me. 


The red rosy cheek may be careworn and pallid, 
The love-beaming lustre may fade frae the e’e, 
When poverty frowns at the cheek o’ the ingle,— 

The mind o’ the maiden’s the tocher for me. 


For deep-rooted friendship an’ hearts knit together, 
Will brighten the prospects o’ Nature’s decay, 

An’ shed o’er my hame.a glad ray o’ endearment, 
When dark wavy ringlets turn lyart an’ grey. 


THE CANTY, COUTHIE CHIEL. 
By ALEX. A. RITCHIE. 


Gang hame, ye glunchin’ grumblers, gae to your beds an’ sleep, 
Till ilk head is like a mummy, or as fozy as a neep; 
Or sit glowrin’ in the ingle, seeking forms wad fley the diel. 
But you’ll never find the visage o’ a canty, couthie chiel; 

O’ a canty, couthie chiel, a canty, couthie chiel, 

You’ll never find the visage o’ a canty, couthie chiel. 


We dinna like the wily loon wha slinks about sae sly, 
Wi? a sneer for the laigh and a smile for the high; 

For on his neebor’s neck to favors he would speel, 

He’s spurned frae the friendship o’ a canty, couthie chiel. 


12 
We canna thole the foplin thing, vain fashion’s tinsel toy, 
Our boon 0’ sociality he never can enjoy; 
Hauding native grace as “vulgar,’’ and freedom “ ungenteel,’ 
He’s look’d and he’s lauch’d at by a canty, couthie chiel. 


But wed me to the lassie kind, wha tries to humor a’, 
She’s thrifty in the kitchen, and she’s honor’d in the ha’; 
She can lauch at a bit joke, at a tale o’ sorrow feel, 

She’ll mak’ a right gude wifie for a canty, couthie chiel. 


When the toil and trouble o’ the weary day is past, 

We poker up the ingle, steek the shutters on the blast— 
Sit down to our bicker, and our scones 0’ barley meal, 
And spend the night sae merry, wi’ a canty, couthie chiel. 


THE VALE OF STRATHMORE. 
A1R— The Scottish Blue- Bells. 


Dear land of my birth, far from thee I’ve been, 
By streamlets so flow’ry, and valleys so green, 
In vain seeking pleasure, for still, as of yore, 
The home of my heart is the vale of Strathmore. 
The home etc. 


*Twas there, when in schooldays, my Mary and me 

First plighted our troth on yon bonnie green lea, 

And there our fond parents kind heaven would implore, 
To smile on our love in the vale of Strathmore. _ 

To smile, etc. 


No longer I’ll wander, no farther I’ll roam, 
Ill brave ev’ry danger for thee, my lov’d home; 
When there the poor rover will:part never more, 
From Mary, my love, and the vale of Strathmore. 


From Mary, etc. 


le 


HARD UP. 


In the days when I was hard up, not many years ago, 

I suffered that which only can the sons of misery know; 
Relations, friends, companions, they all turned up their nose, 
And they rated me a vagabond for want of better clothes. 


In the days when I was hard up, for want of food and fire, 

I used to tie my shoes up with little bits of wire; 

When hungry, cold, cast on a rock, and could not get a meal, 
How oft I’ve beat the devil down for tempting me to steal. 


In the days when I was hard up, for furniture and drugs, 
Many asummer’s night Vye held communion with the bugs; > 
I never faced them with a pike, or smashed them on the wall, 
I said the world was wide enough, there’s room enough for all. 


In the cars when I was hard up, I used to lock my door, 

Yor fear the landlady should say you can’t lodge here no more. 
From my own back drawing-room, about ten feet by six, 

In the work-house just opposite I’ve counted all the bricks. 


In the days when I was hard up, I bowed my spirits down, 
And often have I sought a friend to borrow half-a-crown; 

How many are there in this world whose evils I can scan, 

The shabby suit of toggery, but cannot see the man. 


In the days' when I was hard up, I found a blissful hope, 

It’s all a poor man’s heritage to keep him from the rope; 

Now I’ve found a good old maxim, and this shall be my plan, 
Altho’ I wear a ragged coat, Il] wear it like a man. 


THE ROSE WILL CEASE TO BLOW. 


The Rose will cease to blow, the eagle turn a dove, 

The stream will cease to flow, ere I will cease to love. | 
The sun will cease to shine, the world will cease to move, 
The stars their light resign, ere I will cease to love. 


14 


TAM "TWwIisT, 
OR A TAILOR’S ADVENTURE. 
A1R— Here Am I, Poor Jack. 


Tam Twist was a tailor true, as e’er put shears in claith, 

But he lik’d the Norlan’ blue, as dear as he lik’d his breath. 
His wife was a thrifty dame, an’ wish’d their trade extended ; 
But Tam’s most fav’rite aim, was to draw in cash to spend it. 


Spoken.—So he would cheer up his journeymen an’ appren- 
tices frae dawn till dusk, with his favorite chorus of — 


Chalk before ye cut, cut, eut;- base before ye sew—be handy; 
Brew before ye drink, drink, drink, my boys, O whisky is the 
dandy! ; 


When Tam cam’ hame in drink, then Nell gaed raving mad, 

For then he’d curse an’ sink, an’ ca’ her a ’twas bad; 

But when reason wadna do, she seiz’d him like a tiger, 

An’ by force did him subdue, for she sprang frae Rab 
M’Gregor. 


Spoken.—But before Nell got the better o’ him, there was 
whiles na lown sough in the house, wi’ the reelin’ o’ chairs an’ 
stools, the jinglin’ o’ tangs an’ poker, an’ the squeelin’ o’ weans. 
It was like the rattlin’ 0’ gabberey-shells, ere Nell could get 
him master’d, an’ flung in the bed like a sack o’ draff, unable 
to sing— 

Chalk before ye cut, etc. 
When Tam arose niest morn, he did like ither folk; 
To escape mair skaith an’ scorn, tak’ a’ ’twas said in joke. 
Then to shun Nell’s tongue severe, on the shop-board took his 
station ; 
Where his men he up did cheer, with his wonted salutation—of 


Chalk before ye cut, etc. 


Thus time roll’d weekly on, in its common course or 80, 
As other weeks had gone, whiles an’ ebb, an’ whiles a flow, 


15 


Till a luckless date cam’ roun’, Tam, for six lang days ne’er 
tasted ; 

Sae, when Saturday’s sun gaed down, to a weel-kenn’d howff 
he hasted. 


Spoken.—An’ this was neither mair nor less than the house 
o’ Lucky Teughcallaps, that has the sign o’ the pint-stoup an’ 
haggis, at the west end o’ Gibson’s Wynd, the place where he 
aye gaed to pay his men their week’s wages, an’ tak, what he 
ca’d in his ain genteel way 0’ speakin’, a collation. Sae, after 
Tam had settled wi his men, an’ they had eaten tripe an’ cow- 
heel, an’ drucken a gye twa-three half-mutchkins o’ Campbel- 
ton ‘whisky thegither, the billies slippit awa, ane after anither, 
on some 0’ their ain errands, an’ left their master hickupin’ a’ 
his lane. When Tam was warslin awa wi’ the yeskin, an’ fa’in’ 
rather into a dover, in comes twa firebran’s o’ Irishmen—ca’s 
for a gill—an’ syne began to quarrel about cock-fightin’ an’ 
badger-drawin’. Tam waukens in a wee; an’ hearin’ the 
tongues o’ the Hibernians gaun like Jehu, says (hickupin,) 
‘¢ Frien’s, whare got ye your manners, to come stavin into ony - 
gentleman’s company without speerin whether ye were made 
welcome or no??? £*Gemmini,’”’? says one of them, ‘in a’ 
nations of a better place than your pease-brose and brimstone 
country, where there’s nothing but starvation for back and 
belly, and frost and snow the whole year thro’! ‘‘Confound 
your Irish muzzle,” cried Tam, “that has the insolence to speak 
lightly 0’ a’ Scotchman’s kintra: but as sure’s my name’s Tam 
Twist, I'll twist the ragged carcase 0’ ye like a shapin’ o’ duffle!” 
An’ syne flang a tankard o?’ yill in his face, an’ grippit him 
owre the table, that gaed awa’ wi’ a reenge, an’ brak’ a’ that 
was on’t. When Lucky Teugh¢allaps heard that, she ran to the 
door, an’ gart a’ the street echo, eryin’,—Police! police! But 
the Irishmen, dreadin’ skaith, ran out o’ the house as fast as 
their legs could carry them, no sae muckle as takin’ time to 
pay their reckonin’, leavin’ Tam to clear himsel’ an’ sing— 


-s Chalk before ye cut, etc. 


Then in twa Charlies boune’d, an’ seiz’d him in a trice, 
An’ tho’ he flang an’ flounc d, they held him like a vice; 
| 


16 


Altho’ he curs’d an’ swore, an’.sometimes wad resisted, , 

Yet awa their prize they bore, for they soon were weel assisted 
—singing 
, Chalk before ye cut, etc. ’ 

To the office straught he’s haul’d, amidst the roarin’ croud, 

Wi’ rage an’ pride sair gall’d, while the boys huzza’d aloud. 

Soon before the judge he stands, when he’s safely moor’d in 
harbor, 

Who consigns him to the hands of the doctor and the barber. 


Spoken.—Sae ye maun be a’ weel aware o’ what wad follow. 
The doctor approv’d of the award of the judge, and the barber 
obeyed the directions of the doctor; an’ poor, harmless, merry 
Tam Twist’s beard, whiskers, an’? bushy head, were:shaven as 
bare as a painch, an” his purse lighten’d o’ five shillings by 
way 0’ a friendly admonition an’ memento, an’ a judicious 
display of medical skill to prevent inflammation of the brain, 
which might have arisen from the excessive exertion made in 
singing— 

Chalk before ye cut, etc. 
When Tam cam’ frae their care, sic a droll sight’s seldom seen; 
Wi’ his head sae ghastly bare, an’ his hatslouch’d owre his een. 
When he set it on the left, to catch his slidd’ry head, man; 
Then the right, o’ hair bereft, was.an eldritch sight indeed, man: 


Spoken.—But ere Tam wan hame, Nell an’ the weans were 
bedded, an’ the door barr’d; an’ when Tam gied his usual chap 
an’ countersign, she gied a wheen indistinct grumbles about 
drucken brutes, wasterfu’ blackguards, an’ torments to a’ 
that’s conneckit wi’ them. But when she lighted the lamp, an’ 
drew the bar o’ the door, an’ saw a man wi’ lang bare chafts, 
an’ his hat restin’ on’ the brig o’ his nose, she dash’d the door 
too again, an’ squeel’d, murder! robbers! Sae a’ that Tam 
could say to convince her o’ his identity, was in vain, till the 
neebors, waukent by the soun’, drew near, an’ got an expla- 
nation o’ the hale affair; syne Nell loot him in, an’ gied him as 
muckle halesome admonition as put him for ae night frae 
singing— ° 


Chalk before ye cut, etc. « 


17 


Niest day Tam got a wig, his credit in to keep; 

Which made his head look trig, tho’ it: made his head not 
cheap. 

Then let us all take care, for they’re dang’rous times we livein; 

Lest we fall into Tam’s snare, an’ to purchase wigs be driven. 


Spoken.—And as a caution to all, I could not recommend a 
better maxim than Tam’s favorite chorus, which, I’m sure ye 
hae a’ by heart by this time, by biel alterin’ the last line a 
kennin— 


Chalk before ye cut, cut, cut; base pefore ye sew—be handy; 
Brew before ye drink, drink, drink, my boys; but ne’er let 
drink command ye! 


SHILELAH GRAMACHREE. 


You are going to the wars, where the dirty fighting’s done, 
With knapsack on your back, and your shoulder to a gun, 
Yow’ll dance no more at fairs, or go out upon a spree, 

Oh, Mickey, darling, jewel, dear, you’ll be forgetting me. 


With your soger coat so green, when you’re marching into town, 

Youw’ll break the hearts ofall the girls, and turn them upside 
down; 

And then you’ll be a marrying them, fem if you do you'll see, 

Be the powers! I’ll notsleep in bed, but its murtherin you I'll be. 


When the drums do beat the charge, you'll be falling on your 
back, 

Like they do in Tipperary, but your skull will show nocrack, 

And when the General hears it, for your bravery you’ll be 

A corporal or a body guard, what will become of me? 


If I were queen of America, or California’s king, 

I'd have no guns used in the wars, but a better murtherin thing; 
The inventors of the pistols I’d transport across the sea, 

And kill the sogers decently, with a Shilelah Gramachree. 


18 


HUNTINGTOWER; 
; OR, , 


WHEN YE GANG AWA’, JAMIE. 


Jeannie. 


When ye gang awa’, Jamie, 
Far across the seas, laddie; 
When ye gang to Germanie, 
What will ye bring to me, laddie? 


Jamie. 


V’ll bring you a braw new gown, Jeannie, 
Ill bring you a braw new gown, lassie; 
And it shall be a’ silken gowd, 
With flounces set aroun’, lassie. 


Jeannie. 
That’s nae gift ava, Jamie, 
That’s nae gift ava, laddie; 
There’s ne’er ® gown in a’ the toun, 
I'd like when your awa’, laddie. 


Jamie. 


When I come back again, Jeannie, 

' ‘When I come back again, lassie; 
Pll bring with me a gallant gay,. 
To be your ain gudeman, lassie. 


Jeannie. 


Be my gudeman yoursel’, Jamie, 

Be my gudeman yoursel’, laddie; 
And tak’ me ower to Germanie, 

To dwell with thee at hame, laddie. 


Jamie. 


I dinna ken how that would do, Jeannie, 
I dinna ken how that would do, lassie; 


19 


For I’ve a wife and bairnies three, 
And I’m no sure how you would ’gree, lassie. 


Jeannie. 


You should a tell’t me that in time, Jamie, 
You should a tell’t me that in time, laddie; 
For had I kent of your fause heart, 
You’d ne’er a gotten mine, laddie. 


Jame. 


Your een were like a spell, Jeannie, 
Your een were like a spell, lassie; 
For ilka day bewitched me sae, 
I coudna help mysel’, lassie. 


Jeannie. 


Gang back to your wife at hame, Jamie, 
Gang back to your bairnies three, laddie; 
And I will pray they ne’er may thole, 
A broken heart like mine, laddie. 


Jamie. 
Dry up your tearful e’e, Jeannie, 
My story’s a’ a lee, lassie; 
Ive neither wife nor bairnies three, 
And Il] wed nane but thee, lassie. 


Jeannie.’ 


Think weel afore you rue, Jamie, 
Think weel afore you rue, laddie; 

For I have neither gowd nor land, 
To be a match for thee, laddie. 


' Jamie. 


Blair and Athole’s mine, Jeannie, 
Little Dunkeld’s mine, lassie; 

St. Johnston’s bowers and Huntingtowers 
And a’ that’s mine is thine, lassie. 


. 


20 


HALE-PAST TEN. 


I ha’e mind when I courtit my ain wifie, Jean, 
Though aften I gaed, she little was seen; 

For her faither, the elder, like a’ godly men, 
Aye steekit his door about half-past ten. 


Ae sacrament Sabbath I saw Jeannie hame— 
(Ony lad wi’ his lass wu’d ha’e dune the same;) 
We cracked sae lang at the cozy fire end, 

That the time slipped by tae half-past ten. 


The worthy man read, sine fervently prayed, 
And gin he was dune, he solemnly said: 

It has aye been a rule, but it’s likely ye’ll ken, 
That we steek a’ our doors about half-past ten. 


The hint was enough for a blate lad like me, 
But I caught a blink o’ my Jeannie’s black e’e, 
As much as to say, Come aye back to the glen, 
For we’re sure to be hame afore half-past ten. 


Ae night, twa three lads and mysel did agree, 

To gang to some place near to ha’e a bit spree; 
Quo I, What d’ye think o’ gaun down to the glen, 
For we’re sure to be hame afore half-past ten. 


We a’ were received wi’ hearty good will, 

The elder nae less brought a cask o’ his yill, 

Sine gaed aff to his bed, and says Jean, ye’ll atten’, 
That the doors are a’ steekit at half-past ten. 


Ou aye, says Jean; but the best o’ the joke, 

Was her slipping ben and then stopping the clock; 
I’m no gaun to tell you the how nor the when, 
But the hands werena pointing to half-past ten. 


About four in the morning, the auld man arose, 
And lighting a spunk, to the clock straight he goes; 
Gude save us, gudewife, did ye hear me gae ben, 
Losh! the lads are away before half-past ten. 


21 


But the eat very soon was let out 0’ the pock, 

By the cackling o’ hens, thus ending the joke, 

And opening the shutters, he clearly saw then, 

That they’d a’ ha’e their breakfast e’er half-past ten. 


Ye ne’er heard such laughing a’ days o’ yer life, 
And nane were sae hearty as auld man and wife; 
Quo I, What’ll the lassies no do for the men— 
E’en cheat their auld faither out o’ half-past ten. 


It was a’ settled then that Jean should be mine, 
The wedding soon followed, and we’ve aye sinsyne 
Lived happy together, and hope to the end, 

But we’ll aye mind that night and its half-past ten. 


[Modern Verse, slightly altered from the ancient. original.] 


And noo a wee bit 0’ advice I wad gi’e,— 

Mak gude use o’ time when ye gang to a spree; 
I’m a faither mysel’, and braw weel I ken 

That the fun should be a thro’ about half-past ten. 


ROBIN TAMSON'’S SMIDDY. 


My mither men’t my auld breeks, . 
An’-wow! but they were duddy, 
An’ sent me to get shod our mare 
At Robin Tamson’s smiddy ; 
The smiddy stands beside the burn 
That wimples thro’ the clachan, 
I never yet gae by the door, 
But aye I fa’ a laughin’. 


For Robin was a walthy carle, 
An’ had ae bonnie dochter, 

Yet ne’er wad let her tak’ a man, 
Tho’ mony lads had sought her; 


22 


But what think ye o’ my exploit?— 
The time our mare was shoeing, 
I slippit up beside the lass, 
An’ briskly fell a-wooing. 


An’ aye she e’ed my auld breeks, 
The time that we sat crackin’, 

Quo’ I, my lass, ne’er mind the clouts, 
I’ve new anes for the makin’; 

But gin ye’ll just come hame wi’ me 
An’ lea’ the carle—your father, 

Ye’se get my breeks to keep in trim, 
Mysel’, an’ a’ thegither. 


>Deed, lad, quo’ she, your offer’s fair, 
I really think I'll tak’ it, 

Sae, gang awa’, get out the mare, 
We’ll baith slip on the back o’t; 

_For gin I wait my father’s time, 

I'll wait till I be fifty, 

But na; Vl marry in my prime, 
An’ mak’ a wife fu’ thrifty. 


Wow! Robin was an angry man, 
At losing o’ his dochter; 

Thro’ a’ the kintra-side he ran, 
An’ far an near he sought her; 

But when he cam’ to our fire-end, - 
An’ fand us baith thegither, 

Quo’ I, gudeman, I’ve ta’en your bairn 
An’ ye may tak’ my mither. 


Auld Robin girn’d an’ shook his pow— 
Guid sooth, quo’ he, you’re merry ; 
But PH just tak’-ye at your word, 
And end this hurry burry. 
So Robin an’ our auld gudewife, 
Agreed to creep thegither, 
Now, I ha’e Robin Tamson’s pet, 
An’ Robin has my mither. 


23 


THE IRISH RECRUIT. 
“AIR— Teddy O’ Rourk. 


Teddy O’Ran hada valiant heart, and to fight was mighty 
willing, 

To the Sargent Paddy marched, and took the slislinig shilling. 

Faith, I'll be promoted soon, ‘says he to Corporal Cazy, 

For I’ve shoulder’d the hod for many long. years, it will tack 
me to shoot easy. With a row de dow, etc. 


Hould up your head, says the Sargeant. That’s what I’m 
always after doing—excepting whin I’ve got a whisky faver, 
and thin it is a bit lopsided. Turn out your toes, says he. Faith © 
and don’t you see my toes are out already; and faith that was 
true for me, for both shoes were out at elbows, and the only 
stockings I had were bare feet. Stand at ease, cried he. How 
will I be after doing that same? Sure and faith, said I, I never 
stand at ease but when I sit down. Shoulder arms, cried he. 
Would you have me shoulder legs, says I. Right about face, 
says he. Oh, I’m all right abouf the face, says I. To the right 
wheel, says he. Ifit is all the same thing to you, I would sooner 
have a taste of mutton. Order arms, says he. Where will I 
order thim? says I. Load, says he. The cart or barrow? 
Fire, says he. Where, saysI. Charge, says he. Three anda 
kick, saysI. Take that, says he. And by the powers of Poll 
Kelly, he was after hitting me such a crack that made me sing 

Row de dow, etc. 


At last they drill’d and braced me up and fitted me for battle, 

And off we marched to the field ae fight, where the cannons 
loud did rattle, 

There the blood did run about just like pools of water, 

Paddy, says they, now which is the best, the gun or the hod 
wid the mortar. ~ 


What was the use of disliking the same. They told me I cud 
but die once, faith, but I saw many a poor fellow killed two or 
three times. At last it came to my turn—for a ball came and 
knocked me down as dead as a herrin. Get'up out of that, 


24 


says the Sargent, How can I, says I—sure and don’t you see 
I’m kilt. The devil a bit, says he. ‘Sure then I’m speechless 
says I—and that’s jist as bad. While he was going on so, bad 
luck to me but a ball comes along and takes off his leg—my leg’s 
gone, says he. Which leg,says I?.. My left, says he. Och, 
then, says I, your right is Jeft. How’s that, says he. Because 
it’s the only one that’s left. So at last we beat the foe, and the 
drummers bate, and I was taken off the field wid the killed 
and wounded, got my discharge wid a thumping penchan— 
which they never pay, causing me to sing 
Row de dow, etc. 


YANKEE GIRLS. 


. The pretty gals in Yankee land, 
You’ll find exceeding handy; 
For doing chores, or making pies, 
All know they are the dandy. 


And if you wed our Yankee gals, 
They’re famed for wit and beauty, 

You’ll find they "make the best of wives, 
And always do their duty. 


Who clothed our soldiers in the war, 
Which made of us a nation? 

The Yankee gals worked night and day, 
Nor thought it degradation. 


And now they still make up new clothes, 
But not for fighting brothers; 

They’re making little trowserloons, 
Like good and faithful mothers. 


God bless the Yankee gals at home, 
God bless their emigrations; 

If married, widowed, or unwed, 
They lead all other nations. 


25 


THE WikliE OUTWITTED. 
By ALEX. SMART. $ 
TuxE—The Laird o’ Cockpen«. ' 


A ‘cunnin’ wee carlie was auld Robbie Young, © FA 
A sly pawky body that wadna be dung; ‘ 
Though tied till a wifie, 
The plague o’ his lifie, 
His tricks were a match for the wifikie’s tongue.* 


A grocer was he, in our auld borristoun, 

An’ he coupt up his caupie night, mornin’ an’ noon; 
Aye watchin’ an’ joukin’ 

*" Whan she wasna lookin’, 

He winket an’ leugh as the drappie ran down. 


rei pr « 


An’ aye whan the wee drap wad_biz in his pow, 
It set a’ his couthie auld heart in a lowe; 

‘Sae kind to the bairns, 

‘Wha ran bits 0’ erran’s, . 
A snap ora parlie he aye wad bestow. 


But, the wifie bethought her, sae crafty an’ crouse. 
An’ removed the temptation to sell’t ben the house; 
Her pressie she locket, 
The key in her pocket, 
While Robbie sat watchin’ as mum as a mouse. 


‘Tak’? warnin’, ye auld drunken carlie,” quo’ she, 
‘© Ye’ll ken late or soon what the drinker maun dree; 
Ae drap to your wizen, 
Although it should gizen, 
For fechtin’ or fleechin’ ye’ll getna frae me!” 


How customers gathered she couldna weel tell, 
The bonny auld greybeard now ran like a well; 
The change aye increasin’, 
She thought it a blessin’, 
But kentna it cam’ frae auld Robbie himsel’! 


26. 


O Robin wes mair than a match for her still—_ 
t The whisky she took, but she left him the iw ; 
He ga’e the weans siller, 
An’ sent them ben till her, 
An’ never ance wantit a glass or a gill! 


An’ syne how the bodie would laugh in his sleeve, 
An’ drink without speerin’ the wifikie’s leave; - 

It sweetened the drappie, 

An’ made him sae happy, 
To think he sae weel could the wifie deceive! * 


WHEN YOU GO A COURTING; 
ib alas aa 
THE WAY TO shih LOVE’ LIKE AN TRIGA MAN. 


When you goa courtine a neat and a dainty lass, 
Don’t you be sighing and ready to faint, alas! 
Little she’ll care for such pluckless philandering, 
Soon to old Nick she would send you a wandering; 
Show that you know that her love she would like to grant— 
Plainly explain that yourself is the boy she’d want; 
Stand up and speak up, and make her be sensible, 
How she’s in good luck that can’t get such a fencible. 
Whack, fol aS ral. 


Tip her the wink, and take hold of the fist of her, 

Kiss her before she has time to cry Christopher ; 

Give her another, and then half a score of them, 

Still you will find her quite ready for more of them. 

If she gets crusty, and makes your ears ache a bit, 
Hush her, and please her, and don’t let her speak of it, 


*Robbie may blame us for moralizing, but we would advise 
him and all his drouthy successors to be moderate in their 
mirth, and bear in mind our national proverb, ‘Never let the 
nose blush for the sins 0’ the mouth.” 


27 


When in your arms you fairly have got her, sir, 
Her heart it will melt like a lump offresh butter, sir. — 
Whack, etc. 


Pitch to the devil your sighing and well-a-days, 
Ogling and singing of piperly melodies, 
Moaning and groaning may do, but I doubt it, joy, 
Take my advice, and go briskly about it, boy. 
Never be quibbling or seribbling of sonnets, sir, 
Fly at her face and lay thousands upon it, sir, 
Press her, caress her, be saucy and stylish, man, 
That is the way to make love like an Irishman. 
: Whack, etc. 


When she cries out, you’re an impudent fellow, sir, 
Her eyes gainsay what-her tongue it may tell you, sir; 
Walk with her, talk with her, sit by the side ofher, 
I’1l be your bail that you’ll soon make a bride of her; 
Arrah! the creatures it’s fairly I’m kilt with them, 
Could my heart hold the Red Sea ’twould be filled with them ; 
Far have I rambled and surely where’er I went, 
*T was with the girls I’d the fun and the merriment. 
Whack, etc. 


POLLY PERKINS... 


I’m a broken-hearted milkman, in grief I’m arrayed, 
Through keeping of the company of a young servant maid; 
Who lived on board wages to keep the house clean, 

In a gentleman’s family near Paddington Green. 


CHORUS. 


She was as beautiful as a butterfly, 
And as proud as a queen; 

Was pretty little Polly Perkins, 
Of Paddington Green. 


28 


Her eyes were as black as the pips of the pear, 

No rose in the garden with her cheeks could compare; 

Her hair hung in ringlets so beautiful and long, 

I thought that she loved me, but I found I was wrong. 
She was, etc. 


When I'd rattle in the morning and cry, ‘ Milk below,”’ 

At the sound of my milk cans her face she would show; 

With a smile in her countenance and a laugh in her eye, 

If I thought she’d not love me I’d lay down and die. 
She was, etc. 


When IT asked her to marry me, she said, ‘‘Oh! what stuff,’’ 
And told me to drop it, for she had quite enough 
-Of my nonsense—at the same time I’d been very kind, 
But to marry a milkman she did not feel inclined. 
She was, etc. 


‘‘ Oh! the man that has me must have silver and gold, 
A chariot to ride in and be handsome and bold. 
His hair must be curly as any watch spring, 
And his whiskers as long as a brush for clothing.” 
She was, etc. 


= 
The words that she uttered went through to my heart, 
I sobbed, I sighed, and from her did part, 
With a tear on my eyelids as big as a bean, 
Bidding good-bye to Polly and Paddington Green. 
She was, etc. 


In six months she married—this hard-hearted girl— — 
But it was not a wicount,.and it was not a ’nearl; 

It was not a baronite, but a shade or two wus, 

*Twas a bow-legged conductor of a two-penny Bus. 


She was as beautiful as a butterfly, 
And as proud as a queen; 

Was pretty little Polly Perkins, ® 
Of Paddington Green. 


29 


BAULDY BUCHANAN. — 


By ALEXx’R Ropar. 


° 


O wha hasna heard o’ blythe Bauldy Buchanan? 

A hale hearty carle o’ some saxty years stan’in’; 

Gae search the hale kintra, frae Lanark to Lunnon, 
Ye’ll scarce find the match o’ blythe Bauldy Buchanan, 
For Bauldy’s sae cracky, an’ Bauldy’s sae canty— 

A frame o’ threescore wi’ a spirit o’ twenty— 

Wi his auld-farrant tales, an’ his jokin’ an’ funnin’ 

A rich an’ rare treat is biythe Bauldy Buchanan. 


Blythe Bauldy Buchanan’s a ‘wonderfu’ drinker . 

O’ knowledge—for he’s a great reader an’ thinker— 
There’s scarcely an author frae Bentham to Bunyan, 
But has been run dry by blythe Bauldy Buchanan. 
He kens a’ the courses an’ names 0’ the planets— 

The secret manceuvres 0’ courts an o’ senates— 

Can tell you what day Babel’s tower was begun on ;— 
Sae deep read in beuks is blythe Bauldy Buchanan. 


He can play on the bagpipe, the flute and the fiddle, 
Explain ony text, or expound ony riddle; 

At deep calculation, at drawin’ an’ plannin’, 

There’s naebody equal to Bauldy Buchanan. 

He kens how the negroes are black an’ thick-lippit— 
How leopards are spotted—how zebras are strippit— 
How maidens in Turkey sae muckle are run on ;— 
Sae versed in sic matters is Bauldy Buchanan. 


How the English like beer, an’ the Scotch like their whisky— 
How Frenchmen are temperate, lively and frisky— 

How the Turks are sae grave, an’ the Greeks are sae cunnin’, 
Can 2’ be explained by blythe Bauldy Buchanan. 

An’ mair than 2’ that, he can trace out the cause 

O’ rain an’ fair weather—o’ frosts an’ o’ thaws— 

An’ what keeps the earth in its orbit still runnin’ ;— 

Sae wonderfu’ learned is blythe Bauldy Buchanan. 


30 


When round his fireside neebors meet in the gloamin’s, 
An’ hear him describe the auld Greeks an’ the Romans—- 
How they battled an’ fought without musket or cannon— 
The folks glow’r wi’ wonder at Bauldy Buchanan. 

Or when he descends frae the grave to the witty, 

An’ tells some queer story, or sings some droll ditty, 

Wi’ his poetry, pleasantry, puzzlin’ an’ punnin’, 

Their sides are made sair wi’ blythe Bauldy Buchanan. 


But o’ a’ the attractions that Bauldy possesses, . 

His greatest attractions are twa bonnie lasses; 
>Mang a’ the fine leddies frae Crail to Clackmannan, 
There’s nane can match Bella an’ Betty Buchanan. 
For O they’re sae clever, sae frank an’ sae furthy, 
Sae bonnie, sae bloomin’, sae wise an’ sae worthy, 
They keep the hale lads in the parish a-runnin’ 

An’ strivin’ for Bella and Betty Buchanan. 


THE BRIDAL RING. 


I dreamt last night of our earlier days, . 
Ere I sighed for a sword and feather, 

When we danced on the hill in the moon’s pale rays, 
Hand in hand, hand in hand together. 

I thought you gave me again that kiss, 
More sweet than the perfume of Spring, 

While I pressed on your finger love’s pure golden pledge— 
The bridal ring, the bridal ring. 


I dreamt I heard then the trumpet sound, 
And at once was forced to sever, 

That I fell on the heath with my last death wound, 
Lost to thee, lost to thee for ever. 

1 thought you gave me again that kiss, 
More sweet than the perfume of Spring, 

’Neath its warmth I awoke, on the dear hand to press; 
The bridal ring, the bridal ring, 


al 


OUR GUDEMAN CAM’ HAME AT FEN. 


Our gudeman cam’ hame at e’en, and hame cam’ he; 
And there he saw a saddle-horse, where nae horse should be, 
Oh, how cam’ this horse here? how can this be? — 
How cam’ this horse here, without the leave o’ me? 
A horse! quo’ she; 
Ay, a horse, quo’ he. 
Ye auld blind dotard carle, and blinder mat ye be! 
It’s but a bonnie milk-cow, my mither sent to me. 
A milk-cow! quo’ he; 
Ay, a milk-cow, quo’ she. 
Far ha’e I ridden, and muckle ha’e I seen; 
Buta saddle on a milk-cow saw I never nane. 


Jur gudeman cam’ hame at e’en, and hame cam’ he}. . 
He spied a pair o’ jack-boots, where nae boots should be. 
What’s this now, gudewife? what’s this I see? 
How cam)’ these boots here, without the leave o’ me? 
Boots! quo’ she; Fe 
Ay, boots, quo’ he. 
Ye auld blind dotard carle, and blinder mat ye be! 
It’s but a pair. o’ water-stoups, the cooper sent to me. 
_Water-stoups! quo’ he; 
Ay, water-stoups, quo’ she. 
Far ha’e I ridden, and muckle ha’e I seen, 
But siller-spurs on water-stoups, saw I never nane. 


Our gudeman cam’ hame at-e’en, and hame cam’ he; 
And there he saw a siller-sword, where nae sword should be. - 
What’s this now, gudewife? what’s this I see? 
Oh, how cam’ this sword here, without the leave o’ me? 

A sword! quo’ she; 

Ay, a sword, quo’ he. 
Ye auld blind dotard carle, and blinder mat ye be? — 
It’s but a parridge-spurtle, my minnie sent to me. 

A parridge-spurtle! quo’ he; 

Ay, a parridge-spurtle, quo’ she. . 


$2 


Weel, far ha’e I ridden, and muckle ha’e I seen; 
But siller-handed parridge-spurtles saw I never nane, 


Our gudeman cam’ hame at e’en, and hame cam’ he; 
-And.there he saw a muckle coat, where nae coat should be. 

How cam’ this coat here? how can this be? 

How cam’ this coat here, without the leave o’ me? 
A coat! quo’ she; 
Ay, a coat; quo’ he. 

Ye auld blind dotard carle, and blinder mat ye be! 

It’s but a pair o’ blankets, my minnie sent to me. 
Blankets! quo’ he; 
Ay, blankets, quo’ she. 

Far ha’e I ridden, and muckle ha’e Iseen; 

But buttons upon blankets saw I never nane. 


Ben gaed our gudeman, and ben gaed he; 
And there he spied a ‘sturdy man, where nae man should be. 
How came this man here? how can this be? > 
How came this man here, without the leave o’ me? : 
~~ Aman! quo’ she; ; 
Ay, a man, quo’ he. 
Hooly, hooly, our gudeman, and dinna angry be, , 
It’s just our Cousin McIntosh come frae the north countrie 
~ Your Cousin McIntosh! quo’ he; 
Ay, my Cousin McIntosh, quo’ she. 
You'll ha’e us a’ hang’d, gudewife, I’ve een enough to see; 
You're hidin’ rebels in the house without the leave o’ me. 


O! deck thy hair wi’ the heather bell, the heather bell alone; 

Leave roses to the lowland maid, the lowland maid alone. 

I’ve seen thee wi’ the gay, gay rose, and wi’ the heather bell: — 

I love thee much.wi’ both, fair maid, but wear the heather bell ; 

For the heather bell, the heather bell, which.breathes the 
mountain air, 

Is far more fit than roses gay, to deck thy flowing hair. 


33 


Away, away, ye roses gay, the heather bell for me; 

Fair maiden, let me hear thee say,—‘‘The heather bell for me.”’ 

Then twine a wreath o’ the heather bell, the heather bell alone; 

Norrose nor lily twine ye there—the heather bell alone: , 

For the heather bel], the heather bell, which breathes the 
mountain air, 

is far more fit than roses gay, to deck thy flowing hair. 


NAHE BODY KENS VE. 
By Ropert L. MALONE. 
AtR—Hooly and Fairly. 


“Are ye doin’ ought weel?—are ye thrivin’, my man? 
Be thankfw’ to Fortune for a’ that she sen’s ye; 
Ye’ll ha’e plenty o’ frien’s aye to offer their han’, 
When ve needna their countenance—a’body kens ye; 
A’body kens ye, 
A’body kens ye, 
When ye needna their countenance—a’ body kens ye; 
But wait ye a wee till the tide tak’s a turn! 


An’ awa’ wi? the ebb drifts the favors she len’s ye, 
Cauld frien’ship will then leave ye lanely to mourn; 


When ye need a’ their frien’ship, then naebody kens ye; ~ 


Naebody kens ye, etc. 


The crony wha stuck like a burr to your side, 
Aw vow’d wi’ his heart’s dearest bluid to befrien’ ye; 
A five-guinea note, man! will part ye as wide 
As if oceans and deserts were lyin’ between ye! 
Naebody kens ye, etc. - 


It’s the siller that does’t man! the siller! the siller! 
Tt’s the siller that breaks ye! an’ mak’s ye, an’ men’s ye; 
When your pockets are toom an’ nae wab i’ the loom, 
Then tak’ ye my word for’t there’s naebody kens ye! 
Be eae ye, etc. 


34 


But thinkna I mean that a’ mankind are sae— 

It’s the butterfly-frien’s that misfortune should fear, aye— 
There are those worth the name, Gude sen’ there were mae! 
Wha, the caulder the blast, aye the closer draw near ye! 
Naebody kens ye, etc. 


The friend wha can tell us our fauts to our face, 
But aye frae our foes in our absence defen’s us, 
Leeze me on sic hearts! o’ life’s pack he’s the ace __ 

Wha scorns to disown us when naebody kens us. : 


CHORUS. 
Naebody kens us, naebody kens us, 
Poortith’s a dry-nurse frae folly whilk speans us— 
She deprives us 0’ means, just to show us our frien’s, 
Wha winna disown us when naebody kens us. 


NANNY’S SATLOR LAD. 


BY WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. 


Now fare you well! my bonny ship, 
For Lam for the shore: 

The. wave may flow, the breeze may blow, 
They’il carry me no more. 


And all as 1 came walking 
And singing up the sand, 
I met a pretty maiden, 
I took her by the hand. 


But still she would not raise her head, 
A word she would not speak, 

And tears were on her eyelids, 
Dripping down her cheek. 


Now grieve you for your father? 
Or husband might it be? 

Or is it for a sweetheart 
That’s roving on the sea? 


35 


It is not for my father, 
I have no husband dear, 
But oh! I had a sailor lad, 
And he is lost, I fear. 


Three long years 

‘Iam grieving for his sake, 

And when the stormy wind blows loud, 
I lie all night awake. 


I caught her in my arms, 
And she lifted up her eyes, 

I kissed her ten times over 
In the midst of her surprise. 


Cheer up, cheer up, my Nanny, 
And speak again to me; 

O dry your tears, my darling, 
For Vil go no more to sea. 


I have a love, a true love, 

And I have golden store; 
The wave may flow, the breeze may blow, 
ythey’ll carry me no more. 


HER BRIGHT SMILE HAUNTS ME STILL. 


Tis years since last we met, 

And we may not meet again; , 
I have struggled to forget, ; 

But the struggle was in vain. 


- CHORUS. 
For her voice lives on the breeze, 
And her spirit comes at will: 
In the midnight on the seas, 
Her bright smile haunts me still. 
j (Repeat.) 
At the first sweet dawn of light, 
When I gaze upon the deep, 


36 


Wer form still greets my sight, 
While the stars their vigils keep. 
When I close my aching.eyes, 
Sweet dreams my senses fill; 
And from sleep when I arise, 
Her bright smile haunts me still. 


I have sail’d ’neath alien skies, 
I have trod the desert path, 
1 have seen the storm arise, 
Like a giant in his wrath; 
Ky’ry danger I have known, 
That a reckless life can fill; 
But her presence has not flown, 
Her bright smile haunts me still. 


SWENHT JANE. 


(Altered from Sweet Jane of Ravenswood.) 


*T was springtime, as the wavelets played 
And rippled o’er the sand, 
When I so oft at evening strayed 
By the lake’s lovely strand, 
There Jane’s sweet face and hazel eye 
Entranced me like a spell, 
And my fond heart it heaved a sigh, 
The cause a tale would tell. 
There Jane’s sweet face, etc. 


In summer heat, in shady groves, 
Beneath some whispering pine, 
While she some fragrant garlands wove, 
I wooed her to be mine. 
Light fell her hand into my own, 
‘With blushes plainly seen, 
While at her feet sweet flowers were strewn, 
Sweet Jane, my only queen. 
There Jane’s sweet face, ete. © 


oF 
J} 


JOUN TAMSON’S CART. 


‘We're a’ John Tamson’s bairns’’—that’s an old Scotch 
sayin’, anda true yin. I kent John Tamson weel. He had 
strapping lads and lasses baith, and he lived in that part of 
Glasgow that was remarkable for the march of Sir William 
Wallace to attack the English general, Percy. Ye’ll be spier- 
ing whare’s that? weel it’s just the Brunt Barns. His next door 
neighbor was yin Will Galbraith; a coal carter, like himsel’. 
So yae nicht, after a hard day’s wark, he meets Will: ‘‘Hech, ~ 
Will, there’s a gey cauld kind o’ nicht. Hae ye ony objections 
toa dram?” “‘No,”? quo Will, ‘‘where will we gang?” ‘‘We’ll 
just gang o’er to Lucky Sourkail’s.”” Weel, they sat down, and 
they had yae dram after anither, till ‘‘the proper corrective that 
aften parts gude company” gar’d them rise—that’s the bottom 
0’ atoom pouch. ‘‘Hech,’ says John, ‘‘I’ll hae to be up before 
the sparrows, to gae wa’ for a cart 0 coals.’? Weel, he was as 
gude’s his word; he wakened frae the side 0’ Mrs. Tamson, and 
yokes the horse geyan canny, and he’s no lang till he’s through 
Camlachie-toll. But, faith, in that quiet part o’ the road be- 
tween Camlachie and Parkhead, John fa’s fast asleep, But 
wha should come by, but Bauldy Baird, and he’s a gey gleg 
kind 0’ a chiel’: he disna like to let a gude opportunity slip 
out o’ his hand. So he unyoked John’s horse geyan canny, 
and he sets down thecartas canny. Ithappened to be Ru’glen 
fair morning, and he kent weel whar he was taking his bargain 
till; so he left John driving his pigs to the market geyan com- 
fortable. But as John suddenly fell asleep, he assuddenly wa- 
kened, and looking up wi his yae e’e half opened, he looks first 
to the tae side o’ the cart and syne to the tither, and he cries, 
‘“‘Gor, I canna understan’ the meaning o’ this at a’. As the 
Laird McNab said when he came in at the winning post at 
Perth races—‘By the Lord this is me now;’ but I cannaexclaim 
wi’ the Laird M’Nab—for, by my faith, this isno me! no me!— 
but there’s yae thing I can see, that if I’m John Tamson, I’ve 
lost a horse, butif ’m no John Tamson, faith, ve found a cart. 
But how will I find out this? I’ll just awa’ hame to the wife, 
for she settles a’ my accounts, she’ll settle this yin tae.””, Weel 


38 


awa’ hame he comes, geyan briskly, and he’s no lang till he’s 
at his ain door; and he cries out, ‘‘ Am I John Tamson?” Mrs. 
Tamson puts o’er her hand to find for honest J ohn—‘‘Na, na,”’ 
quo’ she, ‘‘ ye’re no John Tamson, he’s awa’ to his wark twa or 
three hours syne.” ‘’Od I’m glad o’ that,” quo’ he, ‘“‘for if I 
had been John.Tamson, I would have lost a horse, but as ’m 
no John Tamson, Lord, I’ve found a cart!” 


-LET’S TRY TO MEET TROUBLE HALF-WAY. 


Tell me, what is the use of repining? 

Why can’t we be light-hearted and gay? 

If your planet just now be not shining, 

Why to-morrow ’twill beam for to-day. 

Never moodily give way to sadness, 

But blythely smile as you may, 

And your grief will soon change into gladness, 
If you try to meet trouble half-way. 


In the season when sorrow o’ertakes you, 

And the bright star of hope shines above, 

Never sigh that cold falsehood forsakes you, 

But rejoice that truth’s left you to love. 

When fate hands the gall’d cup you must drink it, 
For the jade never brooketh delay, 

But the draught’s not so bad as you think it, 

If you cheerily meet trouble half-way. 


Then be wise, and take heart, don’t be grieving, 
Show a brow that’s unruffled and calm, 

And you'll find ’twill assist your believing, 
That.for every fresh grief there’s a balm. 

So shake hands with dull care when you meet him, 
Since you @an’t keep him always at bay, 

And *twill lighten your load when you greet him. 
So let’s try to meet trouble half-way. : 


39 


KISSING. 


Ladies should see that these Rules are strictly observed. 


The Gentleman must be taller than the Lady he intends to 
kiss. Take her right hand in yours, and draw her gently to 
you, pass your left hand over her right shoulder, diagonally 
down across her back, under her left arm; press her to your bo- 
som, at the same time she will throw her head back, and you 
have nothing to do but to lean a little forward and press your 
lips to hers and then the thing is done. Don’t make a noise 
over it, as if you were firing off shooting-crackers, nor pounce 
down upon it like a hungry hawk upon an innocent dove; but 
“gently fold the damsel in your arms, without smashing her stand- 
ing collar or spoiling her curls, and by a sweet pressure upon 
her mouth, revel in the blissfulness of your situation, without ~ 
smacking your lips as if the inference were verified of stolen 
waters being sweet. 


v 
THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS. 


A brace of sinners for no good, 
Were ordered to the Virgin Mary's eisiae, 
Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood, 
And in a fair white wig look’d wond’rous fine. 
Fifty long miles had these sad rogues to travel, 
With something in their shoes much worse than gravel; 
In short, their toes so gently to amuse, 
The priest had order’d peas into their shoes. 


A nostrum, famous in old popish times, 
For purifying souls that stunk of crimes: 

A sort of apostolic salt, 

Which popish parsons for its power exalt, 
For keeping souls of sinners sweet, 
Just as our kitchen salt keeps meat. 


The knaves set off the self-same day, 
Peas in their shoes, to go and pray: 
_ But very different was their speed, I wot: 


40 


One of the sinners gallop’d on, 
Swift as a bullet from a gun; 
The other limp’d as if he had been shot. 


One saw the Virgin soon—peccavi cried— 

Had his soul white-wash’d over all so clever; 
Then home again he nimbly hied, 

Made fit, with saints above, to live for ever. 


In coming back, however, let me say, 

He met his brother rogue, about half way— 
Hobbling with out-stretch’d neck, and bended knees, 
Damning the souls and bodies of the peas; 

His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brows in sweat, 
Deep sympathizing with his groaning feet. 


‘“‘ How now?” the light-toed, white-washed pilgrim broke, 
“You lazy lubber!”’ 

“‘ Odds curse it!’’ eried the other, ‘“’tis no joke— 

My feet, once hard as any rock, 
Are now as soft as blubber. 


‘“ Hixcuse me, Virgin Mary, that I swear— 
As for Loretto I shall not get there; 

No! to the devil my sinful soul must go, 

~ For dam’me if I ha’nt lost ev’ry toe. 


‘¢ But, brother sinner, pray explain 

How ‘tis that you are not in pain; 
What power hath work’d a wonder for thy toes: 

Whilst I, just like a snail am crawling, 

Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling, 
Whilst not a rascal comes to ease my woes; 

How is’t that you can like a greyhound go, 
Merry, as if nought had happened—burn ye!” 

“ Why,” cried the other, grinning, ‘‘you must know, 
That just before I ventur’d on my journey, 

To walk a little more at ease, 

I took the liberty to boil my peas.”’ 


41 
MY GIRL WITH THE CaAmes NRESS 


AtR-— Old Rosin the Beau. 


> 


A fig for your upper-ten girls, 
With their velvets and satins and laces, 
Their diamonds and rubies and pearls, 
And their milliner figures and faces! 
They may shine at a party or ball, 
Emblazoned with half they possess, 
But give me in place of them all, 
My girl with the calico dress. 


She is plump as a partridge, and fair 

As the rose in its earliest bloom; 
Her-teeth will with ivory compare, 

Amd her breath with the clover perfume. 
Her step is as free and light, , 

As the fawns who the hunters hard press, 
And her eyes is as soft and as bright, 

My girl with the calico dress. 


Your dandies and foplings may sneer, 
At her simple and modest attire; 

But the charm she permits to appear, 
Would set a whole iceberg on fire! 

She can dance—but she never allows 
The hugging, the squeeze and caress, 

She is saving all these for her spouse, 
My girl with the calico dress. ~ 


She is cheerful, warm-hearted and true, 
And kind to her father and mother ; 
She studies how much she can do 
For her sweet little sister and brother. 
If you want a companion for life, 
To comfort, enliven and bless, — 
She is just the right sort of a wife, 
My girl with the calico dress. 


42 
BAc=uLOR’S FARE. 


One night my sweetheart came to woo, 
When I was left and lonely; 

He looked so kind and handsome, too, 
I loved him and him only; 

The village chime told supper time, 
What could I do, dear misses? 

For, as I live, I’d nought to give 
But bread and cheese, and kisses. 

But bread and cheese, etc. 


He asked my hand with such a grace, 
What woman could refuse him? 
I think, had you’ been in my place, 
You’d say, ‘’T'was right to choose him ;”’ 
I hung my head, and simpering said— * 
What could I say, dear misses? 
I will be thine, though we should dine 
On bread, and cheese, and kisses.” 
On bread and cheese, ete. 


Next morning, we exchanged our vows; 
I prize his golden present, 
Which seems like magic to disclose 
Each moment something pleasant. 
His cheerful smiles each care beguiles ; 
Believe me, dearest misses, 
*Tis bliss to share with him our fare, 
Though bread and cheese, and kisses. 
Though bread and cheese, etc. 


THE WHE WikiE. 


There was a wee wifie gaun up in a basket, 
She was gaun np as high as the moon, 
Whaur she was gaun, oh never ane asked, 
And in her hand she carried a broom. 


43 


Wee wifie, wee wifie, wee wifie, quo’ I, 
Whaur are ye gaun, ye’re mounting sae high! 
I’m gaun to soop the cobwebs frae the sky; 
Very well dune, wee wifie, quo’ I. 
Wee wifie, etc. 


A MODEL LOVE-LETTER. 


To .MIss - 
The great love I have hitherto expressed for you 
is false, and I find ty ‘indifference towards you 
increases daily.. The more I see of you, the more 
you appear in my eyes an object of contempt. 
I feel myself every way disposed and determined 
to hate you. Believe me, I never had an intention 
to offer you my hand. Our last conversation has 
left a tedious insipidity, which has by no means 
given me the most exalted idea of your character. 
Your temper would make me extremely unhappy; 
and if we are united, I shall experience nothing but 
the hatred of my parents, added to everlasting dis- 
pleasure in living with you. I have indeed a heart 
to bestow, but I do not desire you to imagine it 
at your service. I could not give it to any one more 
inconsistent and capricious than yourself, and less 
* capable to do honor to my choice and my family. 
Yes, Miss, I hope you will be persuaded -that 
I speak sincerely, and ybdu will do me a favor 
to avoid me. I shall excuse you taking the trouble 
to answer this. Your letters are always full of 
impertinence, and you have not a shadow of 
wit and good sense. Adieu! adieu! believe me 
so averse to you, that it is impossible for me even 
to be your most affectionate friend and humble 
servant. S 


The reader, after perusing this ingenious little letter, will. 
please read it again, commencing on the first line, and then 
the third and fifth, and so continue, reading each alternate 
line to the end 


THE STAGEH-STRUCK HERO. 


Stage-struck when a boy, I went to school gaily, 

Didn’t care for the birch, though I tasted it daily, 

Ali school-time I ranted and twirl’d my shillelah, 
And I always was playing the fool. 


Spoken.—Says my master— 


O! dear, what will become of him?. 

Dear! dear! what will*become of him? 

O! dear, what will become of him? 
He’s quite a disgrace to my school. 


One day my master called my name out; ‘Dicky, my 
boy,” said he, ‘‘hould up your head, and let me hear you 
repeat that piece that I told you to learn.” Yessir, said 
I, but the fact was, I seldom paid any attention to what he 
said; so I just gave him what came first, hem! I then com- 
menced, and I bawled out lustily, ‘‘ Hem! My name is Noryal, 
on the Grampian hills my father feeds his flock’’—‘‘ He was 
a man, take him for all in all’—‘‘ What said the fool of 
Hagar’s offspring’’—‘‘ Is this a dagger that I see before me?”’ 
—‘‘Giye me another horse, bind up my wounds!’’—‘‘T do 
remember an apothecary’’—‘‘ but no more like my father than. 
I do Hereules”—‘‘Oh! my prophetic soul, my Uncle’”’—* Of all 
men else have I avoided thee’’—‘‘To be or not to be, that 

“is the question?”—‘ I’m weary of conjectures, this must end 
them.”’ 


‘Tt shall,” quoth my master, with rage his head tossing, 
‘Ts this now a place for to give me your sauce in, 
Instead of a horse, now, Ill give you a horsing,” 
So he bound me quite fast to a stool. 
Says he at every stroke— 
O! dear, what will become of him? 
» Dear! dear! what will become of him? 
O! dear, what will become of him? 
He’s quite a disgrace to my school. 
Spoken.—After he had flogged me till he was tired— 
‘‘ Young man,” says he, ‘‘as there is not a bit- more of the 


45 


birch left, I shall not flog you any more at present. ‘Thank 
you, sir,” says I, ‘‘ then as I may not have such another chance 
again, I'll just take the liberty of telling you a bit of my 
mind.” So I séized my shillelah, mounted a form, and held 
forth thus: ‘‘ Most potent, grave, and reverend Seignior, my 
very noble and approved good master”’—‘‘ That you have 
wronged me, doth appear in this, you have’’—‘‘ Disgraced me 
by a vile blow”—“ Had not a dagger done the nobler service”’ 
—‘‘Dve been your faithful slave too long’’—*‘ Slave! I have set 
my life upon a cast, and I will stand the hazard of the die?— 
‘‘Richard’s himself again’—‘*I go, who moves one step to , 
follow me, dies upon the spot”’— : 


This said, I march’d out with the air of a Rolla, 

The master jump’d up, and determin’d to follow, 

But I got the start, and I beat him quite hollow, . 
And left the old fellow to cool. i 


Spoken.—And as I marched off, I heard him saying— 


O! dear, what will become of him? 

Dear! dear! what will become of him? 

O! dear, what will become of him? 
He’s quite a disgrace to my school. 


THAT’S WHERE THE LAUGH COMES IN. 


Augustus Don Pedro, a handsome young man, 
- Who traveled on shape, I am told, 
Determined to get, if he possibly could, 
A wife wKo had plenty of geld. 
So, filling his noddle with many a plan, 
By which he the lady could win, 
He hit upon one-—which I shortly shall tell, 
And That’s where the laugh comes in! 


Cuorvs: That’s where the laugh comes in, ha! ha! 
That’s where the laugh comes in! 
’T was all owing to the Income-tax, 

And That’s where the laugh comes in! 


46 


He borrowed a watch and a massive gold chain, 
Rings, studs, and, in fact, all he could, 
Then sold them for greenbacks, and, skortly, before 
The Income-Assessor he stood. 
He handed the money to one of the clerks, 
Who entered his name with a grin: 
He thought him a Nabob, and set him down such, 
And shortly—the laugh comes in! Chorus. 


While eagerly scanning the paper, next day, 
To his great delight, did appear 
His name, with his income in figures set down 
At full twenty thousand per year. 
The plan was successful—he married the girl ; 
And, though he was not worth a pin, 
His wits got a wife who had plenty for both, 
And That’s where the laugh comes in! Chorus, 


The father, enraged at the terrible SELL, 
Determined the young man to shoot; 

But, turning the matter again in his mind, 
Concluded Augustus to BOOT. 

When calmer he grew, he thought he would do 
The best that he could for his kin: 

“So he gave them the cash, and they cut quite a dash: 

And That’s where the laugh comes in! Chorus. 


% 


WILLIE’'S GANH TO MELVILLE CASTLE. 


Oh! Willie’s gane to Melville Castle, 
’ Boots and spurs an’ a’, 

To bid the leddies a’ fareweel, 
Before he gaed awa’. 

Willie’s young and blithe and bonnie, 
Lov’d by ane an’ a’; 

Oh, what will a’ the lasses do, 
When Willie gaes awa’? 


— 


47 


The first he met was Lady Kate, 
She led him thro’ the ha’, 

Aw’ wi’ a sad and sorry heart, 
She let the tear doon fa’. 

Beside the fire stood Lady Grace, 

' Said ne’er a word ava’, 
She thocht that she was sure o’ him 
- Before he gaed awa’. 


Q, ben the house cam’ Lady Bell, 
*‘ Gude troth ye needna craw, 

May be the lad will fancy me, 
And disappoint ye a’.” 

Doon the stair tript Lady Jean, 
The flower amang them a’, - 

“OQ! lasses trust In providence, 
An’ ye’ll get husbands a’.” 


When on his horse he rode awa’, 
They gathered round the door, 
He gaily waived his bonnet blue,— 
They set up sic a roar. 
Their cries, their tears brought Willie back, 
He kissed them ane an’ a’, : 
Said, ‘‘ Lasses bide till I come hame, 
And then PH wed ye a’.” 


“L0°R ME LITTLE AND LO’S ME LANG.” 


Awa’ wi’ your wheezing, your coaxing, and teasing, 
Your hugging and squeezing I beg you'll let be; 
Your praising sae fulsome, too sweet to be wholesome, 
Can never gang down wi’ a lassie like me; 
Nae mair than a woman, nae higher than human, 
To Sylphs and to Seraphs I dinna belang; 
Then if ye wad gain me, the way to attain me, 
Is ‘‘Lio’e me little, and lo’e me lang.” 


48 


W? some silly gawkie, your fleeching sae pawkie, 
Like sweet dozing draughts, will glide cannily down; 
Hence, seek some vain hizzy, and doze her till dizzy, 
She’ll quickly consent a’ your wishes to crown; 
But pester na me wi’t, my heart canna ’gree wi’t, 
Vm sick o’ your cuckoo’s unvarying sang; 
Cease, therefore, your canting, your rhyming and ranting, 
But *‘Lo’e me little, and lo’e me lang.” 


The love that lowes strongest, say, lasts it the longest? 
The fires that bleeze brightest burn soonest awa’; 
Then keep your flame steady—a moderate red aye, 
Or else ye may yet hae a cauld coal to blaw; 
And quat your romantics, your airs, and your antics, 
Tak’ truth’s honest track, and you’ll seldom gae wrang; 
Then win me, and welcome, let weal or let ill come, 
Pll“ Lo’e you little, but lo’e you Iang.” 


WE MAY BE HAPPY YET. 


Oh, smile as thou wert wont to smile, 
Before the weight of care 
Had crushed thy heart, and for a while 
Left only sorrow there. 
Some thoughts, perchance, ’twere best to quell, 
Some impulse to forget, 
On which should memory cease to dwell, 
We may be happy yet. 


Oh, never name departed days, 
Nor vows you whispered then, 
Round which too sad a feeling plays, 
To trust their tones again; 
Regard their shadows, round thee cast, 
As if we ne’er had met, 
And thus, unmindful of the past, 
We may be happy yet. 


49 
THE BLACK SEILER EP. 


By JoHN CARRIOK. 
AIR—John Anderson my Jo. 


Oh! John, what can be keeping you~ how long man, will ye 
bide, 

Ye surely hae mista’en your road, and dauner’t into Clyde; 

Here weary by the ingle side, a lanely wife I sit— 

I’m sure that’s Twa that’s chappit noo, and nae word 0’ ye 
yet. : 


Of our John’s reformation I lang hae tint a’ houp, 

He never thinks o’ rising while a drap there’s in the stoup: 
Wi? gaunting and wi’ gaping, my puir head’s like to split— 
I hear his yoice upon the stair—and surely that’s his fit. 


(John soliloquizing on the stair.) *That’s no our stair—no the 
ane that I gang up to my nest on—I think it’s coming down to 
meet me—and it’s gaun round about too—there’s no twa stanes 
in’t like ane anither—some o’ them wad haud twa feet, and 
ithers a sparrow couldna get fittin’ on. Weel, gin I were at 
the head o’t, and on the inside 0’ my ain door, Vl] raise a 
skellihewit wi’ Janet, it will I—because, gin I dinna do’t wi’ 
her, she’ll do’t wi’? me—an’ a man should be aye master in his 
ain house, right or wrang; it’s a’ the same whether the parritch 
is ready or no—on the fire or af’t—cauld or-het, I maun be het; 
—if she’s pouterin’ at the fire, and keeping it in for me, I’]] tell 
her she had nae business staying up—she might hae been 
aneath the blankets, for she would pouter a while, afore the 
fire could len’ ony light for me to come hame wi’ ;—and if she 
be in her: bed, 111 make her lugs stoun’ wi’ her carelessness 
about her half marrow—that he might hae been robbed or 
murdered for ony care she had o? him, but lying there snoring 
like a dog in a tod’s hole—But there she is—I hear-her, can I 
really be angry wi’ her?—Yes; Imaun be angry at something.’’ 
—( Chaps) (Enquires.)—‘‘Wha’s that?” ‘Open the door, and 
ye’ll see—it’s ill to ken folk through a twa inch plank.” ‘TI 
would like to ken wha it is, before I open my door to ony body.” 
“Weel, Janet, you’re perfectly right—there’s naething like 


- 


50 


being cautious.”? ‘‘Is’t you, John, after a’? Siccan night as 
I hae spent, thinking a’ the ills on earth had happened to you; 
whaur hae ye been, John?” “Oh, Janet, dinna be in sic a 
hurry.” ‘In a hurry, John, near three o’clock in the 
morning!” ‘Janet, it’s the first time since you and I cam 
thegither, that I hae seen you wasting ony thing!’’ ‘Me 
wasting, John!—the only thing I'm wasting is mysel’.”’ ‘Na; 
Janet, that’s no what I mean; what’s the use o’ burning twa 
erusies to let ae body see—an’ ye might hae lighted halfa dizen 
an’-they a’ couldna let me see to come hame?”” “John, John, 
you’re seeing wi’ mae een than your Maker gied ye this night 
—your een are just gaun thegither.” ‘I’m no a hair fley’d for 
that, my doo, Janet, as lang’s my nose is atween them.” “Ou 
ay, John, but ye hav’na tell’t me whar ye hae been till this time 
in the morning?” “Did ye ever hear sic a high wind as is 
blawin’ frae the lift this night? The cluds will be blawn a’ to 
rags—there’ll no be a hale corner left in them to haud ashower 
in, afore the mornin’—no a gaselamp blinkin’ in the Trongate; 
gin ye get up wi’ the ducks in the mornin’, Janet, you’ll see 
the Green scattered ower wi’ the kye’s horns, for they couldna 


keep their roots in siccan a win’—an’ ye’ll get them.for the - _ 


gathering.” ‘‘Ay, John, it’s a high wind, but for any thing 
that I hear, it’s blawing nae higher than your ain head; 
whar was ye?” ‘Dear me, did I no tell ye, Janet? [ll hae 
forgotten then; I might hae tell’t ye—I’m sure I was nae ill 
gate—that’s a lang an’ no vera tenty stair o? ours to come up; 
I maist missed my fit this night coming up it mair than ance— 
we'll hae to flit next term I doubt; ye maun gang and look 
after anither ane the morn, an’ I’ gang wi’ ye—twa hedds are 
better than ane, quo’ the wife, gaun wi’ her dog to the market.” 
“‘Come, come, John, nane 0’ your palavers, you needna think 
to draw the blade ower an auld body’s e’e; the stair, John, 
atweel’s nane o’ the best, but the stair that would suit you best 
this night, is ane wi’ nae steps in’t;—but whar was ye? and- 
wha was ye wi’?”’ ‘Janet, ye hae little pity for me; if I should 
crack ane 0’ my pins (limbs) ye maybe think because I’m a 
shaver 0’ corks, that I can easily mak’ a new ane—but, Janet, 
w’ QO’ curiosity teo! woman, it’s a dangerous thing to be over 


51 


inquisitive—ye mind what the mither 0’ us a’ got by’t; besides, 
‘Gied,’ as honest Rabbie Burns says, ‘the infant world a shug, 
maist ruined a’’—oh, but it is a pithy word that shug/ there’s 
no a part of speech in the English tongue like it.” ‘‘Whaur 
was ye, John, whaur? I doubt ye hae been in ill company, 
this night—ye never put me aff this way before; will ye no tell 
me, John!” ‘Weel, weel, Janet, dinna be sae toutit about it 
—I was awa’ ata burial.”? ‘‘At a burial, John!—what burial 
could there be at this hour? It could be nae decent body, ’m 
sure, that had to be huddled awa’ at sic an untimeous time 0’ 
nicht.”” “Deed, Janet, your richt there; she was’ a very 
troublesome kind 0’ body, and raised muckle discord amang 
families; we were a’ saying, she’s weel awa’ if she bide.” ‘‘But 
wha isshe?” ‘Just our auld frien’ ANNIE, and she never cam 
about the house but iii weather was sure to follow; now, I 
think you may guess.” ‘‘Ay, puir body:!—has she win’ awa’ 
at length, puir creature. Annie! Annie!—oh aye, but whan I 
mind—there’s mae Annies than ane—was it Annie Spittle?” 
“Oh no, it wasna her, poor body!” ‘‘Was it Annie Din- 
widdie?” ‘No; that woman’s din is enough to drive ony man 
to the wuddie.” ‘Weel, Jobn, I ken nae mae 0’ the name; 
but I see you’re just trying, as usual, to mak’ game o’ me. 
Waes me! it’s a hard thing to be keepit sae lang out 0’ my bed 
to be made a fou man’s fool.” 


Says John, ‘no ane that ye hae nam’d ’s the lassie that I 
 mean— 

Ae Annie yet, my dearest doo, ye hae forgotten clean ; 

We buried AnI-Mosiry—and trouth I thought it fit, 

That whan we had her in the yird, a skinfu’ I should get.” 


THOU ART GONE FROM MY GAZE. 


Thou art gone from my gaze like a beautiful dream, 
And I seek thee in vain by meadow and stream; 

Oft I breathe thy dear name to the winds floating by, 
But thy sweet voice is mute to my bosom’s love sigh. 


- 


52 


In the stillness of night, when the stars mildly shine, 
My heart fondly holds a communion with thine; 

For I feel thou art near, and where’er I may be, 
That thy spirit of love keeps a watch over me. 


Of the birds in thy bower now companions I make, 
Every simple wild flower do I prize for thy sake; 

The deep woods and dark wilds now a pleasure impart, 
Yor their solitude suits my sad, sorrow-worn heart. 


Thou art gone from my gaze, but I will not repine, 
Ere long we shall meet in a home that’s now thine; 
For I feel thou art near, and where’er I may be, 
That thy spirit of love keeps a watch over me. 


JOHN GRUMLIE. 


John Grumlie swore by the light o’ the moon, 
And the green leaves on the tree, 
That he could do more work in a day, 
Than his wife could do in three. 
His wife rose upin the morning 
Wi? cares and troubles enow; 
‘“‘John Grumlie bide at hame, John, 
And I'll go haud the plow.  — 
Singing fal de lal ral de lal, fal lal lal lal la, 
John Grumlie bide at hame John, 
And Ill go haud the plow. 


‘Hirst ye maun dress your children fair, 
And put them a? in their gear; 
And ye maun turn the malt, John, 
Or else ye’ll spoil the beer, 
And ye maun reel the tweel, John, 
That I span yesterday ; , 
And ye maun ca’ in the hens, John, . 
Else they'll a’ lay away.” 
Singing, fal de lal lal, etc. 


53 


O, he did dress his children fair, 
And he put them a’ in their gear; 
But he forgot to turn the malt, 
And so he spoiled the beer. 
And he sang aloud as he reel’d the tweel 
That his wife span yesterday ; 
But he forgot to put up the hens, 
And the hens a’ laid.away.- 
Singing, fal de lal lal, etc. 


The hawket crummie loot down nae milk; 
He kirned, nor butter gat; 

And a’ gaed wrang, and naught gaed right, 
He danced with rage, and grat. 

Then up he ran to the head o’ the knowe, 
Wi’ mony a wave and shout— 

She heard,bim as she heard him not, 
And steered the stots about. 

Singing, fal de lal lal, etc. 


John Grumlie’s wife cam’ hme at e’en, 
And laugh’d as she’d been mad, 

When she saw the house in siccan a plight, 
And John sae glum and sad. 

Quoth he,-‘‘I gie up my housewifeskep, 
Tll be nae mair gudewife.”’ , 

“ Indeed,’ quo’ she, ** I’m weel content, 
Ye may keep it the rest o’ your life.” 

Singing, fal de lal lal, etc. 


- 


‘¢ The deil be in that,” quo’ surly John, 
‘* P}1 do as I’ve dune before.”’ 

Wi that the gudewife took up a stoot rung, 
And John made off to the door. 

‘‘ Stop, stop, gudewife, I’ll haud my tongue, 

» 1 ken I’m sair to blame, 

But henceforth I maun mind the plow, 

And ye maun bide at hame.”’ 
Singing, fal de lal lal, etc. 


54 


YOUNG LOCHINVAR. 


Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 
Through all the wide border his steed was the best; 
And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none, 
He rode all unarm’d, and he rode all alone! 

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar! 


He staid not for brake, and he stopp’d not for stone, 
He swam the Esk river where ford there was none— 
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 

The bride had consented, the gallant came late; 

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar! 


So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, . 

’Mong bride’s-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all! 
Then spoke the bride’s father, his hand on his sword, 
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word— 
“Q come you in peace or come you in war, 

Or to dance at our bridal? young Lord Lochinvar!” 


I long woo’d your daughter, my suit you denied: 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its fide! 
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, 

To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine! 
There be maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar! 


The bride kiss’ the goblet; the knight took it up, 

He quaff’d up the wine and he threw down the cup! 
She look’d down to blush, and look’d up to sigh; 

With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. 

He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar— 
‘Now tread we a measure!” said the young Lochinvar. 


So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace! 

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, 


55 Ls 


And the bride-maidens whisper’d, ’I'were better by far 
To have match’d our fair cousin with young Lochinvar! 


One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 

When they reach’d the hall door and the charger stood near; 
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 

So light on the saddle before her he sprung! 

‘She is won! we are gone over bank, bush, and scaur; 

They’ll have fleet steeds that follow!’’ quoth young Lochinvar. 


There was mounting ’mong Gremes of the Netherby clan; 
Fosters, Feiwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; 
There was racing, and chasing on Cannobie Lea, 

But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see! 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 

Have you ere heard of a gallant like young Lochinvar. 


MY LOVE’S LIKE A RED, RED ROSE. 


Oh! my love’s like a red, red rose, 
That’s newly sprung in June;- 

Oh! my love’s like the melody 
That’s sweetly play’d in tune. 


As fair art thou, my bonnie lass; 
So deep in love am I— ~ 

And I wiil love thee still, my dear, 
Till a’ the seas gang dry. 


*Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun; 
I will love thee still, my dear, 
* While the sands o’ life shall run. 


And fare thee weel, my only love, 
And fare thee weel a while! 

And I will come again, my love, 
Though if were ten thousand mile. 


56 
THE COAT OF OTHER DAYS. 


The coat of other days is faded, and all its beauty’s past, 
My friends no longer look as they did, but like it are fading 
. fast. ; 


When first I sported it, a new one, its buttons threw Sol’s rays, 
But now, no longer ’tis a new one—the coat of other days. 


The cuffs and collar now are greasy, not a bit of nap is there; 

Twas tight, but now it fits me easy, as a cheap fit at Rag Fair, 

The very velvet on the collar, is now all grease and frays; 

And the boys, as I pass by them, hallo—‘There’s a coat of 
other days!’ - 


INEVER SAYS NOTHING TO NOBODY. 


What a shocking world this for scandal! 
The people get worse every day, 
Everything serves for a handle 
To take folk’s good name away. 
In backbiting vile, each so labors, 
The sad faults of others to show body ; 
I could tell enough of my neighbors, 
But I never says nothing to nobody. 


Tis a snug little house I reside in, 
And the people who’re living next door 

Are smother’d completely such pride in 
As I never met with before. 

But outside of doors they don’t roam, 
A large sum of money they owe body, 

¥ Folk call but can’t find them at home, 

I never says nothing to nobody. * 


The butcher so greasy and fat, 

When out he does nothing but boast, 
Struts as he puts on his hat, 

As if he supreme ruled the roast. 


57 


Talks of his wealth and his riches, 
Consequence always does show body ; 

His ugly old wife wears the breeches, 
But I never says nothing to no body. 


The baker lives quite in great style, 

' His wife is, oh, Lord! such a fright; 

New dresses she’s got a great pile, 
They sleep out of town every night. 

Country cottage completely in state, 
Determin’d not to be a low body; 

He’s been pull’d up three times for short weight, 
But I never says nothing to nobody. 


A deep cultured parson of fame, 
I see very often go by; 
His heart is fill’d full of love’s flame, 
He visits a girl on the sly; 
Although this daily I see, 
And surely he’s but a so-so body, 
Of course, as ’tis nothing to me, 
I never says nothing to nobody. 


I could tell, if I lik’d such a tale, 
Of neighbors all round, great and small; 
That surely I think without fail, 
Would really astonish ye all. 
But here now my short ditty ends, 
I don’t want to hurt high or low body; 
I wish to keep in with my friends, 
So I never says nothing to no body. 


HAVE YOU SEEN MY SISTER? 


Say, my lovely friends, have you any pity 

At your finger-ends? then listen to my ditty. 

Our Kate has gone away, last Thursday night we miss’d her; 
Good people do not smile,—say, have you seen my sister ? 


58 


If you have her seen, I hope you will advise her 

To return to me, or I must advertise her; 

Her waist is very thick, her stays give her a twister, 
Now tell me b’hoys and g’hals, have you seen my sister ? 


She squints with both her eyes, ina mafhner very shocking, 
She’s got a mouth for pies, and wears no shoes or stockings; 
I’m afraid she’s gone astray, and some chap did enlist her, 

I’m afraid she’s gone for good; say, have youseen my sister? 


She wants her two front teeth, you’d see if when she’d titter, 
She’s got such little feet, Victoria’s shoes won’t fit her! 

She wears no cap at all, but a great big chignon blister, 
Now tell me once for all, have you seen my sister? 


Her figure’s straight and tall, her conduct’s very proper; 
She’s well provided, for she’s eighteen pence in copper. 
Now if you have her seen, you never could forget her, 

For she’s very much like me, now, have you seen my sister? 


Her mouth is very small, her nose is straight and natty, 
I tell you once for all, this girl is very pretty. 

Now Ill sing you another song, and it shall be a twister, 
If you will go with me, and help me find my sister. 


PARODY ON : 
JESSIE, THE FLOWER O’ DUMBLANE. 


The deil has fa’n doun frae the tap.o’ Ben Lomond, 
And broke his thigh bane on a great muckle stane, 
When by cam’ an auld woman just in the gloamin’ 
And carried him hame to her house in Dumblane. 
She tried him wi? physic, wi’ blisters, and plaisters, 
And a’ that she could do was only in vain— 
She tried him wi? physic, wi’ blisters, and plaisters, 
And grat when she thought he was very near gane. 
She grat when she thought it; she grat when she thought it; 
She grat when she thought he was very near gane. 


59 


I REMEMBER. 


I remember, I remember how my childhood fleeted by, 
The mirth of its December, and the warmth ofits July. 
On my brow, love, on my brow, love, there are nosigns of care, 
- But my pleasures are not now, love, what childhood’s pleasures 
were. I remember, etc. 


Then the bowers, then the bowers, were as blithe as blithe could 


And all their radiant flowers were coronals for me. [be, 
Gems to-night, love, gems to-night, love, are gleaming in my 
hair; 


But they are not half so bright, love, as childhood’s roses were. 
I remember, etc. 


IT was merry, I was merry, when my little lovers came 

With a lily or a cherry, or a new invented game; 

Now I’ve you, love, now I’ve you, love, to kneel: before me there; 

But you know youw’re not so true, love, as childhood’s lovers 
were, I remember, etc. 


THE: WATER DRINKER. 


A bonnet-laird in the vicinity of Glasgow, who was given to 


indulge too freely in ardent spirits, came at last to the resdlu-° 


tion of eschewing the evil, by becoming a member of the 
Temperance Society. With this purpose he went to Glasgow, 
and inquired of a friend where he should enrol his name. ‘‘I’m 
just resolved,” he said, ‘‘to drap the whisky a’ thegether, and 
tak naething stronger than water.’? The friend, who was a 
wag, informed him that there were several Temperance Socie- 
ties in town, but the chief one, and the one he would advise 
him to enter, was The Glasgow Water Company. Being directed 
to the office of that Company, the following dialogue took place : 

“T wish, gentlemen, to become a member of your society.” 

‘‘You wish to take a share in our company ?”’ 

‘Deed, do I, sirs; for I think there’s naething like water 
after a’.’’ 


4 


~ 


60 


“To be sure, it is essential to life. The gentleman who dis- 
poses of shares will be here presently if you can wait.” 

*‘Oh, I ean wait brawly. And is there mony nowin Glasgow 
friendly to your society?” 

‘Why, we have to fight against a good deal of opposition, 
as you may have heard.” 

‘“¢ That’s a pity. It wad save mony a sair head and sair 
heart if the folk o’ the town were a’ 0’ your mind.” 

‘Yes, but that is scarcely to be looked for.” 

‘“¢ Na, na—sae lang as puir‘human nature is what it is. But 
tell me, gentlemen, in real earnest, does none o’ ye ever taste 
whisky?” 

. (A laugh.) ‘‘Why, there’s no denying we may take a glass 
like our neighbors at times.”’ : 

‘Ay, I jaloused as much from your looks. And were yejust 
desperately gi’en to the dram before you cam’ here?” - 

‘‘ What do do you mean, you old quiz?—There comes the 
gentleman with whom you have to deal.” 

*¢ Weel, sir, I was wanting toenrol myselfin your company.”’ 

‘¢' You wish a share, sir? The price per share is £85 at present. 

‘‘Highty-five pounds for entering a water society! D’ye tak’ 
me for an idiot?” 

‘“‘It is not a farthing lower, and has not been this twelve- 
month.”’ - 

‘“Gae wa’—gae wa’, sir! Eighty-five pounds for drinking 
water! Ifthat’s the case, 11] stick by the speerit trade yet.” 


~ 


HERE'S A HEALTH TO ALL GOOD 
LASSES. 


Here’s a health to all good lasses, 
Pledge it merrily, fill your glasses, 
Let the bumper toast go round. 
May they live a life of pleasure, 
Without mixture, without measure, 
For with them true joys are found. 


61 


POP GOES THE QUESTION. 


Matrimony is a nut for every man’s digestion ; 

When the shell is fairly cracked, Pop! goes the question. 
Pretty girls will sigh and blusk—simper all they can, sir, 
Till, from out their pouting lips, Pop! goes the answer. 


Cupid fans the holy flame, rankest kind of arson: 
When it gains a certain height, Pop! goes the Parson. 


When a year has shown its tail, round the corner, may be, 
Out upon the wicked world, Pop! goes a baby. 


Madameplets her husband swear, she must be the whipper: 
And about the youngster’s heels, Pop! goes the slipper. 


Bachelor who lives next door, bears it for a season ; 
But before the year is out, Pop! goes his reason. 


Maiden lady, up the stairs, stamps each moment faster, 
Till, from off the wall beneath, Pop goes the plaster. 


Dirty, ragged little boy, beneath the window lingers, 
Thumb applied unto his nose—Pop! goes the fingers. 


All around the neighborhood, such antics are enacted : 
And, while mamma is scolding him, Por goes distracted. 


ONE THING AND THE OTHER. 


Last year I was one and twenty, and having entered life, 

My mother said it was time I had myself a wife. 

But how to go I didn’t know about any such a bother; 

For just then I’d no idea about one thing or the other. 
Chorus. 


There was a lady lived close by, I thought she would suit me 
best ; 

So to her house I went—quite spicy 1 was dressed. 

I whistled three times three, when down comes her mother; 

Says she, ‘“‘ what do you want?” Says I, ‘‘one thing or the 
other.”’ Chorus, 


62 


I walked into the parlor, sat down by the lady’s side; 
Says I, ‘‘you are my darling, and you shall be my bride.” 
First she’d whimper, then she’d simper, her feelings try to 
smother; 
And there we sat and looked at one thing or the other. 
Chorus. 


We were married in three weeks, and every thing went right; 

But we felt kind of funny, when left alone at night. 

She’d cock her eye and look so sly, her feelings try to smother; 

And we'd a mighty queer time, about one thing and the other. 
Chorus. 


But troubles never end, and time flies swiftly on; 

One day a friend says to me, ‘‘Arrah, Mike! you’ve got a son.” 

“Tt aint,” says I,‘ it is,’ says he,‘‘ its a daughter,” says another, 

cOW ell. what's the differ ence,’’ says i, “as long as it’s one thing 
or the other.” Chorus. 


Some folks are never satisfied, but grumble at their state; 

But should she bring me ten times ten, I cannot help my fate. 

Increase, say I, aid multiply, and help one another; ¢ 

And now I hope you’re satisfied with one thing and the other. 
Chorus. 


WEES OLD, OLD STORY. 


Summer moonbeams, softly playing, 
Light the woods of castle keep; 
And there I see a maiden straying, 

Where the dark’ing shadows creep. 
She is list’ning, meekly, purely, 
To the wooer at her side; 
. Tis the ‘‘ old, old story,’ surely, 
Running on like time and tide. 
Maiden fair, oh! have a care; 
Vows are many—truth is rare. 


63 


He is courtly, she is simple, 
Lordly doublet speaks his lot; 
She is wearing hood and wimple— 
His the castle, hers the cot. 
Sweeter far she deems his whisper, 
Than the night-bird’s duleet thrill; 
She is smiling, he beguiling; 
Tis the ‘‘old, old story,’’ still. 
Maiden fair, oh! have a care; 
Vows are many—truth is rare. 


The autumn sun is quickly going 
Behind the woods of castle keep, 
The air is chill, the night winds blowing, 
And there I see a maiden weep. 
Her cheeks are white, her brow is aching, 
.The “old, old story,” sad and brief, 
Of heart betray’d, and left nigh breaking, 
In mute despair and lonely grief. 
Maiden fair, oh! have a care; 
Vows are many—truth is rare. 


Is 1T ANYBODY’S BUSINESS? 


Is it anybody’s business if a gentleman should choose 

To wait upon a lady, if the lady don’t refuse? 

Or, to speak a little plainer, that the meaning.all may know, 
Ts it anybody’s business if a lady has a beau? 


Is it anybody’s business, when that gentleman does call? 
Or when he leaves the lady? or if he leaves at all? 

Or is it necessary that the curtain should be drawn, 

To save from further trouble the outside lookers-on? 


Is it anybody’s business but the lady’s, if her beau 

Rides out with other ladies, and doesn’t let her know? 

Is it anybody’s business but the gentleman’s, if she 

Should another accept escort, where he doesn’t chance to be? 


64 


If a person's on the sidewalk, whether great or whether small, 


Is it anybody’s business where that person means to call? 
Or if you see a person, while he’s calling anywhere, 
Is it any of your business what his business may be there? 


The substance of our query, simply stated would be this: 

Is it anybody’s business what another’s business is? 

Whether ’tis or whether *tisn’t we would really like to know; 
For, we’re certain if it isn’t, there are some who make it so. 


If it is, we’ll join the rabble, and act the noble part 

Of the tattlers and defamers who throng the public mart; 
But if not, we’ll act the teacher, until each meddler learns, 
It were better in the future to mind his own concerns. 


t COULD NEVER ORY FOR LAUGHING. 


Luck in life, or good or bad, 
Ne’er could make me melancholy, 
Seldom rich, yet never sad, 
Sometimes poor, but always jolly; 
Fortune in my scale, that’s poz, 
Of mischance put more than half in, 
Yet I don’t know how it was, 
I could never cry for laughing. 
*Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. ha! 
I could never cry for laughing. 


Monstrous grave are men of law, 
(Law knows no end while once beginning,) 
Yet those dons I never saw; aaa 
But their wings would set me grinning, 
Once when I was very ill, 
Seven doctors came—such quizzes! 
Zooks! I thought they would me kill, 
With laughing at their comic phizzes! 
Ha, ha, ha, ha,,ha, ha; ha! 
With laughing at their comic phizzes! . 


<&* 


G5 


‘After that, in love I fell, 


(Love creates a deal of trouble,) 
But my courtship, strange te tell, 
Only made my mirth redouble; 
i Janghed—she frowned—I laughed agent, 
Till I brought her to the tether, 
Then she smiled—we wed—since then 
We mean to laugh through life: Agri ie 
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! 
We mean to laugh through life together. 


HMIGH?t HO? 


Tell me, Maiden, tell me truly, 
Hast thou lost thy heart or no? : 
In the charming month of July . 
Hearts will go a-wandering so; 
Is it go, 
Ay orno? 
Haarts will go—with a—heigh! ho! 


Dew bespangles mead and mountain, 
Sunbeams kiss and flowerets blow; 
By the shady felland fountain = 
Lovers will a-wooing go; 
Is itso, | 
, Ay or no? 
Hearts will go—with a—heigh! ho! 


Ope thine eyes, and spare thy roses, 
Thus outblushing Nature so; 
Love is still, and ne’er discloses 
What the aly gloamings know; 
Is it so, 
Ay. or no? 
Hearts will go—with a—heigh! ho! 


13) 


66 


THE “LAIRD O' LUGGIEHEAD" ON 
MARRIAGE. 


He’s nae man ava that’s no in love ance i his life, either in 
the ca’f, rational, or dotified state. But it’snothat that I gang 
mad at; it’s the vaporing they mak about it—the fiddlin’ an’ 
dancin’, an’ the loupin’ the winnocks at nieht—setting trysts to 
meet on the Hollows road thé tae nicht, atween the Mill-dykes 
the neist—my dearing, an’ lambing, an’ my seraphing—keekin’ 
frae’ neath plaids an’ mantles when a body gaes by, like ag 
mony chickens frae’ neath the wings 0’ a hen—makin’ set dan- 
- ces an’ galravaging awa’ ilka Saturday for cruds and cream, 
sour plooms an’ grossets—vowing eternal love—- and then, after 
they hae ruined them, hawdin’ up their hands an’ swearin’ by 
a’ that’s gude, that they ken naething about them! That’s 
what I fin’ fau’t wi’. Awfu’ wark that, Mr. Meek; stealing a 
horse is naething to that—imputing to my young frein’ ony 
thing that’s no deeent. But wha’, Mr. Meek, can hear an’ 
witness sie iniquity, an’ no be baith vexed an’ angry? Puir 
women bodies led to ruin by.a wheen dreaming, vaporing 
young scoonrels. is enéuch fo sink the kintra as laigh as Sodom 
and Gommorrah. Gae ’wa wi’ your ca’f love, Mr. Chalmers, 
it’s a feast an’ a famine--a month 0’ joy an’ a lifetime o’ misery. 
Wait till your feathers are a’ oot, afore ye rin fo the arms 0’ 
matrimony. It’s no a Kiss an’ a clap, an’ a rug an’ a rive, 
that’s to pay after yer married, lad! It’s whar’s the meal te 
come frae, an’ the peats, an’ the bits 0’ duds, an’ the rent, 
an’ the ilka thing belanging to a hoose. It’s hoo yer to pay 
your debt, lad—keep the croon o’ the cawsie, an’ preserve your 
integrity frae scandal. Folk’s unco gude when we’re awn them 
onything. Doas I did, sir—no praising mysel’ the mair I say’t 
—wait till yer banes are hardened, till yer beard taks a grip o’ 
the razor, till yer purse can stan’ it’s lane, an’ a body can. step 
into yer diniug-room, an’ count mair in’t than twa marrowless 
chairs. I was seven-an’-twenty year aul’ afore I ventured oot 
amang them, as the saying is. By that time I had galore—a 
weel-stowed house, an’ claes 0’ a’ dimensions, forby a trifle is 
the bank to keep a’ straught on a rainy day; an’ being thus 


67 


provided for, I thought it nae sin to mak some decent quean 
the better 0’ me. Sae, sir, juist cannily leuket aboot me for 
twa-three days, an’ waled oot ane tomy mind—ane that had 
elever haun’s, an’ a trick for carefu’ness—an’ no lang aboot it 
aithers. Leezy Haldine o’ Cornhapper was my choice; I sent 
her a bit note—nae doot in the best style I was able—telling 
her that I wanted a wife an’ that I fixed upon her, an’ that if 
she liket to tak me, gude an’ weel; if no, there was nae ill dune. 
I juist gied her aucht days to think on’t—rowth o’ time in a’ 
conscience, Mr. Meek, to wheefile. I like aye to see folk clever 
about their bizness. She took me at my word, an’ blithe the 
body was, nae doot, to get the offer. Our names were gi’en in 
to the session-clerk, an’ in less than three weeks I had her on 
ahint me at the full gallop, and into the Cross Keys like a lin- 
tie! But nae mair aboot it; let the wab rin to the wab’s end. 
Here’s a hale skin, an’ a way o’ doing, an’ honor an’ honesty 
forever. 


AS THE AULD COCK CRAWS. 


As the auld cock craws, sae the young ¢ock Jearns, 
Aye tak ye care what ye do afore bairns; 
Their heads are muckle, though their limbs are wee, 
An’ O! the wee totts are gleg in the e’e: 
Then dinna fricht your laddie wi’ the ‘ black boo’ man, 
But let him douk his lugs in his wee parritch pan; 
Lay ye his rosy cheek upon your mow’ a wee, 
How the rogue will laugh when his minny’s in his e’e. 


As the auld cock craws, sae the young cock learns, 

Aye tak ye care what ye do afore bairns: ‘ 
Though vice may be muckle, and virtue may be wee, 
Yet a sma’ speck o? light will woo the dullest e’e: 

Then dinna fright us a’ wi the muckle black deil, 

Show us merey’s bonnie face, an’ teach us to feel; 
Though we think like men, we should feel like bairns,— 

As the auld cock craws, sae the young cock learns. 


68 


YOU SHOULDN'T BUY TRIPE ON FRIDAY. 


RECITATIVE. 


Dye often heard my poor old Granny say, 
That: Friday was a most unlucky day! ; 
And as a proof old Granny wasn’t wrong, 
O listen, listen to my doleful song. 


ATR. 


Old Mrs, Snipe was fond of tripe, 
Sure no poor soul was thinner; 
In Sunday clothes to market-goes, 

On Friday for a dinner. 
‘But as she went along the road, 
She met with neighbor Tidy, 
‘He heard her errand—lackaday! 
And unto her those words did say, 
‘You shouldn’t buy tripe ona Friday!” , 


But on she went—the tripe she bought, 
Though she was in a shiver; ‘ 

She got a large piece for a groat, 
Besides a hap’orth of liver. 

As she return’d, a large dog lay 
With open mouth so wide, he 

. Snatch’d her liver, and ran away, 

And barking thus, he seem’d to say, 

“You shouldn’t buy tripe on a Friday!’ 


Then home she went, with sorrow flat, 
Such luck she’d ne’er before met; * 

And then she saw her tabby cat, 
Sat mewing at the door mat. 

‘‘Ah, puss!’’ she cries, *‘I ‘can’t be gay, 
This seems to be a wry day; 

But puss she mew’d, and round did play, 

And thus to her she seem’d to say, - 
“You shouldn’t buy tripe on a Friday! 


69 


But still she thought her tripe to eat, 
So laid it on the dresser, 
But pussy got it down so neat, 
And soon she made it lesser. , 
A large piece stuck, sirs, by the way, 
Which choked her neat and tidy ; 
She kick’d and sprawl’d, and down she lay, 
And as she died, she seem’d to say,. . 
“You shouldn’t buy tripe on a Friday.” 


DOCTOR MAGEE. - 
By WILLIAM MuRDOOE. 
TUNE— Widow Machree. 


My heart it is broken, and never will mend, 
O! dear Doctor Magee, 
For death has just throttled my very best friend— 
My dear, dear Doctor Magee; 
He was borne to his tomb 
Amidst sorrow and gloom, 
And his neat carpet room 
Is now woeful to me; 
E’en the pig in the stye, 
Wears a tear in its eye, 
“For dear, dear Doctor Magee. 


The mugs and the bottles he Joved so to deck, 
O! dear Doctor Magee, 
With his drugs and his potions, are going to wreck, 
My dear, dear Doctor Magee; 
All his lances and saws, 
His nic-nacks and gew-gaws, 
Like an onion each draws 
The big tear to my e’e; 
And the goose, though half blind, 
Brings bim aye to my mind, ; 
My dear, dear Doctor Magee. a 


70 


Had he died of the cholera, fever, or pocks, 
O! dear Doctor Magee; 
I would not, just now, have been tearing my locks 
For-dear, dear Doctor Magee; 
But my heart, O be still! 
The great cause of his ill, 
Was—he swallowed a pill 
* Of his own cookery! 
And now he is dead, 
And the turf’s o’er his head, 
’ My dear, dear Doctor Magee. 


DAT GETS AHEAD OF ME. 


As subjects now are getting scarce, to sing or write upon, 
And authors puzzled what-to do, to cause a little fun; 

My song shall be about the times, as all of you can see: 

The way that humbug’s swallowed now, dat gets ahead of me. 


CHORUS. 
Yah, yah, yah, I can’t help laughing, 
When I look around and see 
De way dat humbug’s swallowed now— 
Dat gets ahead of me. 


How is it that banks suspend and break, and cause such awful 
De President’s allowed to take and speculate the dimes? [times— 
How is it nothing’s said or done, and pious folks set free, 
Den go to Europe for dar health?—dat gets ahead of me. 

Yah, yah, etc. ; 


How is it that de working men, with brawny arms so strong, 

Decline to labor as of yore, but thinks that ten hours long 

Are more than they should stand to?—the reason seems to be 

They want more pay for lesser work—dat gets ahcad of me. 
Yah, yah, etc. 


71 


Why is it poor folks now-a-days, if any deed they’ve done, 
- Are nabbed up quickly, sent below, and, two to one, are hung? « 
Why is it if they’ve got the’cash, de jury won’t agree, 
But bring a murderer in insane?—dat gets ahead of me. 
Yah, yah, etc. 


How is it so much time is spent by Congress members now, 
In quarrels, fights, and long debates, with one continual row? 
Why don’t they hold their noisy tongues, if theyj want things 
so to be? 
Why can’t de people’s votes decide’—dat gets ahead of me. 
Yah, yah, etc. 


Why is it ladies all for show, go deep im husband’s books— 
Wear silks and satins loaded down, with such tremendous 


How is it dandies cut a swell in big society, [hoops? 
And owe such awful tailors’ bills?—dat gets ahead of me. 
Yah, yab, etc. 


HIGHLAND_CREDIT. 


After the battle of Preston, two Highlanders, in roaming 
through the south of Mid-Lothian, entered the farm-house of 
Swanston, near the Pentland hills, where they found no one 
at home but an old woman. They immediately proceeded to 
search the house, and soon finding a web of coarse, home-spun 
cloth, made no scruple to unroll, and cut off as much as they 
thought would make a coat to each. The woman was exceed 
ingly incensed at their rapacity—roared and cried, and even 
invoked the divine vengeance upon their heads—‘‘ Ye villains!” 
she cried, ‘‘ye’ll hae to account for this yet!” ‘“‘And whan will 
we pe account for’t?”’ asked one of the Highlanders. ‘At the’ 
the last day,’ye blackguards!” exclaimed the;woman. “Ta 
last day,” replied the Highlander, “tat pe cood lang credit— 
she’ll_pe gaun ta tukit a coat, but faith she’ll pe tukit a waist, 


74 


But now sin’ my Donal a-wooing has gane, 
To muckle Meg Dhu o’ Loch-sloy; 

She’s blin’ 0’ an’ e’e, an’ her mouth stan’s a-jee, 
An’ @ hump on her’shouther like buoy. 

Deed-has she, poor creature! She has a hump on her shouther, 
like ta ship’s buoy; but never mind, Donal, shust got ta money, 
a great daud o’ grund to buy, though she’s as ugly as ta foul 
tief. 

Now she’il pray, an’ she’ll wish tat weel she may be, 
Since Donal ta wifes now has got; 
Although she’s no beauty, she can do her duty, 
An’ Donal’s content wi’ his lot! 
Deed is he, good laa! 
And Donal’s content wi? his lot: 


PADDY’S WEDDING. 


Oh, wont you hear, what rousing cheer 
Was spread at Paddy’s wedding, oh! 
And how so gay we spent the day, 
From the church unto the bedding, oh. 
First, book in hand, came Father Quipes, 
And bride’s da-da, the bailey, oh! 
While all the time those merry pipes 
Struck up that lilt, so gaily, oh! 
Diddle um da, etc. 


Oh, there was Matt, and sturdy Pat, 
And merry Morgan Murphy, oh! 

And Murdock Meigs, and Skirlock Creigs, 
McLaughlin and Dick Durphy, oh! 

And there were the girls, all dressed in white, 
Led on by Teddy O'Riley, oh! 

While all the time those merry pipes 
Kept up that lilt, so gaily, oh! 

Diddle um da, ete. 


75 


When Pat was asked, would his love last, 
The church echoed with laughter, oh!” 
“ By my soul!’ says Pat, ‘‘you may well say that, 
To the end of the world, and after, ch! 
And then so tenderly her hand he gripes, 
And kissed her, so genteely, oh! 
While all the time those merry pipes 
Kept up that lilt, so gaily, oh! 
. Diddle um da, etc. 


Oh, such a set was never met, 

So frolicsome and so frisky, oh! 
Potatoes galore, a scirrig or more, 

And floating mather of whisky, oh! 
Then round the room went all the swipes, 

At the bride’s expense, so freely, oh! 
While all the time those merry pipes 

Kept up that lilt, so gaily, oh! 

Diddle um da, etc. 


And then at night, oh! what delight, 

To see them capering and prancing, oh! 
Sure, an opera ball was nothing at all, 

Compared with their style of dancing, oh! 
In came the girls all dressed in white, 

Led on by Mrs. O’Reilly, oh! 
While all the time those merry pipes 

Kept up lilt, so gaily, oh! 

Diddle um da, etc. 


And then the lot so tipsy got, . 

They'd go to sleep without rocking, oh! 
The bridemaids fair now gravely prepare 

For throwing off the stocking, oh! 
Then round the room went all the swipes, 

That their joys might be nightly and daily, oh! 
While all the time those blasted pipes 

Kept up their screeching, gaily, oh! 

Diddle um da, etc. 


74 


But now sin’ my Donal a-wooing has gane, 
To muckle Meg Dhu 0’ Loch-sloy ; 

She’s blin’ 0’ an’ e’e, an’ her mouth stan’s a-jee, 
An’ @ hump on her’shouther like buoy. 

Deed hasshe, poor creature! She hasa hump on her shouther, 
like ta ship’s buoy; but never mind, Donal, shust got ta money, 
a great daud o’ grund to buy, though she’s as ugly as ta foul 
tief. 

Now she’ll pray, an’ she’ll wish tat weel she may be, 
Since Donal ta wifes now has got; 
Although she’s no beauty, she can do her duty, 
An’ Donal’s content wi’ his lot! 
Deed is he, good lad! 
And Donal’s content wi? his lot: 


PADDY’S WEDDING. 


Oh, wont you hear, what rousing cheer 
Was spread at Paddy’s wedding, oh! 
And how so gay we spent the day, 
From the church unto the bedding, oh. 
First, book in hand, came Father Quipes, 
And bride’s da-da, the bailey, oh! 
While all the time those merry pipes 
Struck up that lilt, so gaily, oh! 
Diddle um da, etc. 


Oh, there was Matt, and sturdy Pat, 
And merry Morgan Murpby, oh! 

And Murdock Meigs, and Skirlock Creigs, 
McLaughlin and Dick Durphy, oh! 

And there were the girls, all dressed in white, 
Led on by Teddy O’Riley, oh! 

While all the time those merry pipes 
Kept up that lilt, so gaily, oh! 

Diddle um da, ete. 


Pas 
io 


When Pat was asked, would his love last, 
The church echoed with laughter, oh!” 
“ By my soul!’ says Pat, ‘‘you may well say that, 
To the end of the world, and after, oh! 
And then so tenderly her hand he gripes, 
And kissed her, so genteely, oh! 
White all the time those merry pipes 
Kept up that lilt, so gaily, oh! 
. Diddle um da, etc. 


Oh, such a set'was never met, 

So frolicsome and so frisky, oh! 
Potatoes galore, a scirrig or more, 

And floating mather of whisky, oh! 
Then round the room went all the swipes, 

At the bride’s expense, so freely, oh! 
While all the time those merry pipes 

Kept up that lilt, so gaily, oh! 

Diddle um da, etc. 


And then at night, oh! what delight, 

To see them capering and prancing, oh! 
Sure, an opera ball was nothing at all, 

Compared with their style of dancing, oh! 
In came the girls all dressed in white, 

Led on by Mrs. O’Reilly, oh! 
While all the time those merry pipes 

Kept up lilt, so gaily, oh! 

Diddle um da, etc. 


And then the lot so tipsy got, . 

They’d go to sleep without rocking, oh! 
The bridemaids fair now gravely prepare 

For throwing off the stocking, oh! 
Then round the room went all the swipes, 

That their joys might be nightly and daily, oh! 
While all the time those blasted pipes 

Kept up their screeching, gaily, oh! 

Diddle um da, etc. 


“71 CANNA BE YASHED ’ 


By EDWARD POLIN. 


The deil’s in the hizzies, 
Thae lassies 0? mine!— 
Though there’s a’ things to do, 
Baith the rough wark an’ fine; 
Though the breid’s a’ to bake,. 
An the claes maun be washed, 
There they’ll sit an’ they’ll tell me 
They ‘‘canna be fashed!” 


Was ever the like o’t?— 
Sic gentle affairs! 
Nat the jauds are gane gyte 
Wi’ their braws an’ their airs; 
My certes! I think 
Wi? the tangs I’d be smashed, ‘ 
Gin I said to my mither, 
‘“‘T canna be’ fashed!” 


But noo the bit lassocks 
Ha’e grown sae genteel, 

Wi? their books an’ pianos 
Yor seams an’ the wheel; 
Gin ye ask them to help ye, 
Just. hear hoo your snashed— 
‘* Deed mither I tell you 
I canna be fashed!” 


An’ then there’s sic wiling 
For phrases sae fine, 
That they’re a’ liker leddies 
Than dochters 0” mine; 
But sune whan at hame 
A’ sic clavers are quashed, 
For Scotch-like they’ll tell me 
They ‘‘canna be fashed!” 


17 


Wi their veils an’ their earrings, 
An’ boas—keep me! 
The pride o’ thae lassies 
It’s awfu’ to see. . 
Mak’ them leddies indeed! 
Na, their chaffs should be clashed, 
When they offer to tell me 
They ‘‘canna be fashed!”’ 


“But bide ye awee”~ 
Till the tawpies get men, 
An’? maun e’en gang their wa’s 
To their ain butt an’ ben,— 
An’ ha’e bairnies wha greet. , 
Till they’re baith fed an’ washed, 
We'll see gin they’ll cry then 
They ‘“‘canna be fashed!?’ 


F 


ERISH SPITE. 


Two Irish laborers went into a saloon one day to have a 
dhrop o’ whisky; but unfortunately they had been on the ram- 
ble for a day or two previous, and, consequently, were without 
a dime in their pockets. Their only plan, then, was to get 
tick. One of them—a very honest, outspoken fellow, thus ad- 
dressed the landlord: ‘Mr. Donnelly, will you trust me a 
noggin till the pay night?” ‘‘Troth and I won’t,” was the reply. 
“Well,” says Pat,‘‘will you trust this man here, and I’ll1 come 
eaution for him?” ‘“‘I’lneither trust you nor that man,” replied 
Mr. Donnelly. ‘ You wont,” says Pat, throwing of his jacket 
and flourishing his fists—‘‘You wont! man alive! come out 0’ 
this till I give ye a right good’””——‘‘Dont throw off your coat, 
boy,’’ said the landlord, very coolly; ‘‘you know very well I can 
lick you.” ‘‘Well,” says Pat, ‘“‘look at thisnow: doyousee that 
shop over there on the tither side of the street?—just to spite 
ye, on Saturday night when I get my wages, Pll go over to 
that whisky shop and spend every haporth of my money and 
divil the rap Il] take home to the wife!” 


78 
THE DAINTY BIT PLAN. 


ArrR— Brose and Butter. 


Our May had an e’e to a man, 
Nae less than the newly-placed Preecher ; 
And we plotted a dainty bit plan 
For trapping our spiritual teacher. 
O, we were sly, sly! O, we were sly and sleekit, 
But ne’er say a herring is dry until it be reestit and reekit. 


We treated young Mr. McGock, 

We plied him wi? tea and wi’ toddy; 
And we praised every word that he spoke, 
Til we put him maist out o’ the body. 

O, we were sly, sly, ete. 


And then we grew a’ unco guid— 
Made lang faces aye in due season; 
” When to feed us wi’ spiritual fuid, » 
Young Mr. McGock took occasion. 
O, we were sly, sly, etc. 


¥Frae the kirk we were never awa’, 
Except when frae hame he was helping; 
And then May, and often us a’, 
Gaed far and near after him skelping. 
_O, we were sly, sly, etc. 


We said aye, which our neighbors thought droll, 
That to hear him gang through wi’ a sermon, 
Was, though a wee dry on the whole, 
As refreshing as dews on Mount Hermon. 
O, we were sly, sly, etc. 


But to come to the heart o’ the nit— 
The dainty bit plan that we plotted 
Was to get a subscription afit, 
And a watch to the minister voted. 
O, we were sly, sly, etc. 


Fhe young women folk o’ the kirk, 
By turns lent a hand in collecting; 


79 


But May took the feck o’ the wark, 
And the trouble the rest o’ directing 
O, we were sly, sly, etc. 


A gran’ watch was gotten belyve, 
And May, wi’ sma’ prigging, consentit 
To be ane o’ a party o’ five - 
To gang to the Manse and present it. 
O, we were sly, sly, etc. 


We a’ gied a word o’ advice 
To May in deep consultation, 
To hae something to say unco nice, 


And to speak for the hale deputation. 
O, we were sly, sly, etc. 


Taking present and speech baith in hand, 
May delivered a bonny palaver, 
To let Mr. McGock understand 


How zealous she was in his favor. 
O, we were sly, sly, etc. 


She said that the gift was to prove 
That his female friends valued him highly, 
But it couldna express a’ their love; 
And she glinted her e’e at him slyly. 
O, we were sly, sly, ete. 


He put the gold watch in his fab, 
And proudly he said he would wear it; 
And, after some flattering gab, 
Tauld May he was gaun to be marryit. 
O, we were sly, sly! O, we were sly and sleekit! 


But Mr. McGock was nae gowk w? our dainty bit plan to 
be cleekit. ; 


May cam’ hame wi’ her heart at her mouth, 
And became frae that hour.a Dissenter; 
And now she’s renewing her youth, 
Wi’ some hopes o’ the Burgher precentor. 
O, but she’s sly, sly! O, but she’s sly and sleekit! és 
And cleyerly opens ae door as soon as anither ane’s steekit 


;: 80 ° 
PAT MULLIGAN’S COURTSHIP. 


‘Tis our duty to love both our father and mother, 
Give up talking nonsense, and all sorts of bother, 
But greater by far is the duty to smother ~ 
Our love when beginning to ail: 
O dear! dear! what can the matter be! 
Och botheration now, what can the matter be, 
Thunder and turf! why, what can the matter be? 
How Cupid my poor heart doth flail! 


‘“Och, Judy, but you have kilt me now, I can nather ate, sup, 
sleep, nor drink, for thinking ov ye. Ye’vye made a hole in my 
heart like a bung-hole, for which I hope you will live to repint 
and be forgiven. ,Bad cess to me! if the people arn’t beginnin’ 
to think, that Iam the livin’ atomy, aich of us, both saw at 
Donnybrook Fair, an’ if my flesh, an’ bones, an’ blood, dhrop 
of me longer, they’l] be in earth’s keeping afore my own eyes. 
Living, you must be mine, and if I die, I shall Jay my death 
agin ye every night till I bring you to your senses, you murther- 
ing jewel!” 

Then I search’d all around for a sweetheart less cruel, 
In the hope she would make me for get my first jewel; 
This only was adding fresh fire to the fuel, 

And making more trouble and wail. 


“Tt is all over with you now, Paddy,’’says I, ‘‘so before the 
breath laves yer body, you had better consult your own clargy, 
Father Murphy, and get a mouthful of ghostly consolation 
to die with. Father, says I to him, I am going to die.”. ‘‘ Then 
you’re a great big fool,” says he. ‘‘What puts that into your 
head, my son?” “Judy has kilt me,” says I, ‘‘and it’s of no 
use livin’ any longer.’? ‘‘ Paddy, my son,’ says he, ‘ you 
ought to know that this world on which you are placed, is just 
like a potful of praties—ye are all sent here to jumble, and 
tumble, and bubble, and roar, and the man that remains longest 
in the pot of affliction without his skin breakin’ intirely—that 
mai, you may dipind on’t, is the true potatoe.” ‘*Arrah 
father,” says I, ‘it’s not that at all, it’s Judy.” 


P 
— 


81 


Then dear! dear! what can the matter be! 

Och botheration now, what can the matter be, 

Pewter and pots! why what can the matter be? 

Cupid, my poor heart doth flail. 

So finding no peace, I determined to marry, 

Get Judy’s consent, and no longer to tarry, 

Tis the road all must go, though a few will miscarry, 
s As onward through life they do sail. 


“ Judy,” says I,‘ will you have me iver and always and 
amin??? ‘“‘Well Pat, an’ suppose I were, should I be any the 
worse fort?” “‘Troth an’ myself often wondered that you were 
niver axin me.” ‘Is’t your own self that I’m hearin’ spakin’ 
—beauty. an’ blessing on every tether linth o’ ye, Judy?” ‘It’s 
not in the nature of woman to refuse ye, Pat Mulligan,” says 
she. ‘‘ Then it’s done in the closing of an eye-cover,” says I, 
“and next Sunday, Father Murphy, took us before him, and 
repeated the last binding words, that we should be one in sow], 
body, an’ nature, seed, breed, an’ gineration for ever, and I 
never ripinted; and I would advise all love-sick swains, just to 
ax their sweethearts, and maybe they'll answer like my own 
Judy, it’s not in the nature of woman to refuse ye.”’ 


Well! well! now nought can the matter be, 

Honey, and sugar now, nought can the matter be, 

Pigs and praties since nought can the matter be, 
Paddy no longer need wail. 


NERVOUS FAMILY. 
< AIR— We're All Noddin’. 


We’re all nervous, shake, shake, trembling, 
We're all nervous at our house in town, 
Myself, and my wife, my sister, and my mother, 
If left in the dark are all frighten’d at each other; 
Our dog runs away if a stranger’s in the house, 
And our great tabby cat too is frighten’d at a mouse. 
And we’re all nervous, ete. 


82 


My nervous wife can’t work at her needle, 

And my shaking hand spills half my cup of tea; 
When wine at her dinner my timid sister’s taking, 
Its 8pilt on the table for so her hand is shaking; 

My mother taking snuff very carefully doth try, 
To pop it up her nose, but she pops it in her eye. 
For she is so nervous, etc. 


We all at dinner shake, shake at carving, 
And as for snuffing, we oft snuff out the light; 
Last night every one did to snuff the candle try, 
But my wife couldn’t do it, nor my sister, nor could I. 
Come, give me the snuffers, said my mother with a flout, 
Ill show you how to do it, and she did, and snuff’d it out. 
For she is nervous, etc. 


Our nerves foretell all the changes of the weather, 
We're so nervous we’re frighten’d at each noise; 
We've got a watchman to guard the private door; 
But since we have had him we’ve been frighten’d more and 
Yor he falls asleep, and we’ve found out toothat he, [more; 
In respect to his nerves, O, he’s quite as bad as we, 
For the watchman’s nervous, etc. 


“The mania’s spreading through the house like wild-fire, 

And all the servants in fear walk about 

As if they’d the ague or some other sort of il]; 
They won’t move about, though they cannot stand still, 
Nor answer the door to a knock if late at night, 
For fear that a robber should kill them all with fright. 
For we’re all nervous, etc. 
& 
If you, like us, are any way nervous, 

I hope you won’t laugh but will pity our sad case; 
Nervous cordials we have taken, and every kind of pills, 
And our money all goes now in paying doctor’s bills. 

Still we take their advice, and their stuff, and keep a nurse, 
But instead of getting better, O, we all get worse and worse. 
And we’re all nervous, etc. 


83 


PARODY ON LORD ULLIN’S DAUGHTER. 


A weaver, unto Paisley bound, 

Cries, ‘‘Coachman, coachman, tarry, 
And I will gi’e you eighteenpence, 

Me on the road to.carry.” 


‘Now wha be ye the road wad pass, 
This dreadfu’ snawy weather?”’ 

‘“* Oh, I’m a weaver frae the Shaws— 
My wab is on my shouther. 


‘‘And fast ahint your coach I’ve ran, 
Twa miles and mair thegither, 
And if ye dinna tak me on, 
The snaw will soon me smother.”’ 


Outspake the hardy coachman then— 
“Get ye upon the dicky; 

It isna for your eighteenpence, 
But out o’ love I tak ye; 


‘‘And by my word, my weaver lad, 
In faith we maunna tarry; 

For see, the snaw is very deep— 
Ill drive, and that wi’ fury.” 


By this the snaw storm did increase, 
_ The leddies they were shriekin’ ; 
The snaw flakes cam and filled their mouths 
When they attempted speakin’. 


But as the storm did fast increase, 
And as the wreaths did gather, 
The weaver’s bundle had unloosed 
And fa’n frae aff his shouther. 


When sore dismay’d, through storm and shade, 
His loss he did discover, 

He left the coach, and sought in yain, 
His bundle to recover. 


84 


“Come back! come back!’ he cried in grief, 
Through storm his voice did sound ill, 
At length he stood, and wept, and cried, 
‘““My bundle! O my bundle!” 


Twas vain: the snaw had covered o’er 


The wab, his view preventin’, 


The coach drave on—the weaver stood 


Alane, his case lamentin’. 


BEHAVE YOURSHEL’ BEFORE FOLK. 


AIR— Good Morrow to Your Night Cap. 


Behave yoursel’ before folk, 
Behave yoursel’ before folk, 
And dinna be sae rude to me, 
As kiss me sae before folk. 
It wadna gie me meikle pain, 
Gin we were seen and heard by nane, 
Yo tak’ a kiss, or grant you ane; 

But, guidsake! no before folk. 
Behave yoursel’ before folk, 
Behave yoursel’ before folk; 

Whate’er you do, when out 0’ view, 
Be cautious aye before folk. 


Consider, lad, how folk will crack, 
And what a great affair they’1] mak’, 
O’ naething but a simple smack, 
That’s gi’en or ta’en before folk. 
Behave yoursel’ before folk, 
Behave yoursel’ before folk; 
Nor gi’e the tongue o’ auld or young 
Occasion to come o’er folk. 


it’s no through hatred o’ a kiss, 
That I sae plainly tell you this; 
But losh! I tak’ it sair amiss 

To be sae teazed before folk. 


£ 


85 


Behave yourself before folk, 
Behave yourself before folk; 

When we’re our lane ye may tak’ ane, 
But fient a ane before folk. 


I’m sure wi’ you I’ve been as free 

As ony modest lass should be; 

But yet, it doesna do to see 

Sic freedom used before folk. 
Behave yourself before folk, 
Behave yourself before folk; 
‘Pll ne’er submit again to it— 

So mind you that—before folk. 


Ye tell me that my face is fair; 
It may be sae—I dinna care— 
But ne’er again gar’t blush sae sair 
As ye ha’e done before folk. 
Behave yoursel’ before folk, 
_ Behave yoursel’ before folk; 
Nor heat my cheeks wi’ your mad freaks, 
But aye be douce before folk. 


Ye tell me that my lips are sweet, 
Sic tales, I doubt, are a’ deceit ; 
At ony rate, it’s hardly meet 
To pree their sweets before folk. 
Behave yoursel’ before folk, 
Behave yoursel’ before folk; . 
Gin that’s the case, there’s time and place, 
But surely no before folk. 


But, gin you really do insist ~ 
That I should suffer to be kiss’d, 
-Gae, get a license frae the priest, 
And mak’ me yours before folk, 
Behave yoursel’ before folk, 
Behave yoursel’ before folk; 
And when we’re ane, bluid, flesh and bane, 
Ye may tak’ ten—before folk. 


86 


HABBIE SIMPSON 
AND HIS WIFE. 


[Reprinted from memory.| 

You’ve a’ heard tell o’ the Brig o’ Johnston. If no, [ll tell 
you. It’s oot frae Paisley a bit; and in days gane by, there 
lived ane o’ Scotland’s best pipers,—I mean Habbié Simpson 
and his wife, as jolly a couple as ever trod the earth. Monya . 
‘fuddle they had during their sojourn here, and sometimes 
they would be on the spree for weeks at a time, when their 
bawbees were a’ handed in to the pouch o’ the pablican and 
their credit was nane o’ the best. However, Habbie was much 
respected at the Big House, baith by the Laird and the Lady, 
and he and his pipes were always sure to be there at every 
merry-making.. 

It happened upon a time when they had been on the bottle 
for a fortnight, that Habbie and his wife were baith in the 
horrors, and naething in the house to slocken their drouth. 
While lying gaping with their throats as dry as a stick, Hab- 
bie punches Peggie in the ribs with his elbows, and says, 
‘* Peggie, get up and try to raise the wind, and gi’e us some- 
thing to wet our mouths wi’-” 

‘Get up yoursel’, man; it’s your business to provide for our 
wants.” 

‘‘ Gae ’wa noo, Peggie, an’ get us a drap.” 

‘*Na, na! Habbie, the siller’s a’ dune, aud as for our credit, 
it’s dune lang syne. There’s nae use trying; I ken brawly.” 

‘Ah, but Peggie, your a grand schemer. You was aye gude 
o’ that.” 

‘“¢ Weel, Habbie, I canna do onything unless you was dead.” 

“‘Me dead, Peggie! and what could you do then to benefit 
Me in my present predicament? I wonder to hear ye.”’ 

‘*Y mean sham dead, ye ken.” 

“ And what would ye do if I was sant dead?” 

‘* Weel, ye ken, the Laird is gaun on a hunt the day, andI 

would just gang doon and meet him as he’s gaun awa’ to 
hunt, and tell him ye’re dead; and he’s sure to gi’e me some- 
thing to get you decently puried. 7 


87 


‘‘O Peggie! Peggie! ye’re a grand schemer. I’ll be sham 
dead, if ye can mak’ onything o’t.” 

Sae Peggie put the sheet on the top o’ him, and awa’ she 
went to meet the Laird. When they met, the Laird accosted 
her with ‘Gude morning, Margaret, I’m glad I’ve seen you; 
tell Habbie to be over at 7 to-night with his pipes, as I have 
some friends going on a hunt, and we mean to have a party 
in the evening when we return.” 

[Peggie crying.] ‘‘Ah! sir, Pye sad news to tell ye; Habbie 
Simpson’s dead, and there’s no a pickle meal in the house, nor 
naething to bury him wi.” 

‘“‘Habbie Simpson dead! My friend Habbie! My piper! 
Well, well.” 

‘Ou aye, sir, he de’ed this morning, and there’s neither 
meat nor drink in the house.”’ 

“ Well, Margaret, here is five shillings; take that and get 
some provisions, and I will see the Lady when I get home 
about getting Habbie Simpson decently interred.” 

[Margaret crying.] ‘‘O thank you, sir; ye were aye kind to 
meand Habbie. Thank ye. Thank ye.” 

So hame she comes, taking good care to get a bottle filled on 
her way to cheer up Habbie after his lang lie in bed. Mean- 
while Habbie espied Peggie coming along the footpath, and 
from her looks he thought she had succeeded; so he rubs his 
hands on his knees, saying to himsel’—‘‘ Our Meg’s a grand 
schemer.”’ 

Meg entered, holding up a bottle. 

“ Capital, Peggie, 1 aye said you was the best o’ us twa. 
Gie’s a toothfu’.” 

So Meg sat doon and had anither jolly day. 

As night was coming on, Habbie says, ‘‘ But what are we to 
do for the morn?”’ 

‘‘Tt’s your turn next,’ says Peggie. 

“‘ Weel,’ says Habbie, ‘‘ I canna do onything unless you be 
dead. Ifyou be dead—sham dead, I mean—I’ll gang ower to 
the Big Houce and see the Lady and tell her that you’re dead 
and I’l1l warrant she’ll gi’e me something to keep the house 
the morn.”’ 


88 


Sae Margaret agreed to be dead till Habbie came back; and 
he set off through the short cuts to the Big House. The Lady 
seeing Habbie coming with a pretty long face, bade him good 
evening, and told him that he was expected to be over to the 
party that evening. 

‘‘Ah! Ma’m, isn’t oor Peggie de’ed, and there’s neither meal 
nor whisky in the house, and I’ve got naething to bury her 
wi’.’ 49 

‘¢ Sad news, indeed; I sympathize with you, Habbie. Wait 
a moment, and I will get something ready for you.” 

So a basket, well filled with both meat and drink, was soon 
hanging over Habbie Simpson’s arm, dangling hame to com- 
fort Margaret, who was anxious to know the result. Arrived 
at hame, they baith made themselves comfortable on the con- 
tents of the basket. 


Leaving them to their enjoyment, we return to the Big 
House, where the Laird had just arrived with his party. 


‘¢Q, Madam, we have had a glorious hunt to-day, and must 
spend the evening as gloriously.” ' 


‘¢ Sir, I have sad news to communicate to you.” 


“‘O, I forgot,” says he, ‘‘that Habbie Simpson is dead, and 
promised his wife to come over with you to make arrangements 
for the funeral.’ eS 

‘¢ Margaret, you mean, sir.” 

‘“*T mean what I say—Habbie is dead.” 

‘¢ Well, sir, I mean to say it is his wife.” 

“‘T tell you it is Habbie,”’ says he. 

“ T tell you it is Margaret,’’ says she. 

‘*Do you mean to dispute my word, Madam? I saw Mar- 
garet this morning, and she informed me of his death; so it 
must be him that’s dead.” 

‘**'You are excited over your good sport to-day. I tell you, 
sir, I saw Habbie this afternoon, and he told me his wife was 
dead; so it must be her that’s dead.”? 

‘‘T tell youl wont. believe it, until I see it, for I say it 8 
Habbie that’s dead.” 

**T tell you, sir, it is her that’s dead, and Habbie’s alive.” 


89 


“JT will not eat before this is settled. Put on your oloal; 
Madam, and you will see it is him that’s dead.?’ 

‘“¢T am ready, sir, and you will see it is her that’s dead.’ 

So off the pair started. 

Habbie and his wife were sitting at the table, tasting some 
of the Lady’s best bottle, when Habbie noticed some one 
coming along the footpath: 

‘‘ As sure as my name is Habbie Simpson, there’s the Laird 
and the Lady coming. What will we do noo?” 

‘* Do?” quoth she; ‘‘ baith be dead, to be sure, and you gang 
to the back o’ the bed, for you de’ed first.” 


No time to lose, they were hardly in bed when in comes the 
Laird and the Lady, and see the house in the condition de- 
scribed. 

“Well,” says the Laird, ‘ this is astonishing!” 

‘“‘Q dear!’ says she, ‘‘ this is terrible; but I say, she died 
first.” 

‘“‘T will give five shillings,” says the Laird, ‘“‘ to know who 
_ died first.” 

Habbie could not lose the chance of winning five shillings, 
so he got up on his elbow and said, ‘‘ Gi’e me the five shillings, 
sir! I de’ed first! I de’ed first!” 


It is unnecessary to say, that Habbie went over to the Big 
House with his pipes that evening; and the relating of what 
you have now read, by the Laird of Johnstone to his friends, 
caused as much sport and oni oy ment as did the hunting 
throughout the day. 


I CANNA SLEEP. 


By WILLIAM ANDERSON. 


I canna sleep a wink, lassie, whan I gang to bed at night, 
But still o’ thee I think, lassie, till morning sheds its light, 
I lie and think o’ thee, lassie, and I toss frae side to side, 
Like a vessel on the sea, lassie, when stormy is the tide. 


90 
My ‘heart is no my ain, lassie, it winna bide wi’ me, 
Like a birdie it has gane, lassie, to nestle saft wi’ thee. 


I canna lure it back, lassie, sae keep it to yoursel’, 
But, oh! it sure will brack, lassie, if you dinna use it well. 


Where the treasure is, they say, lassie, the spirit lingers there, 
And mine has fled away, lassie, you needna ask me where: 

I marvel oft if rest, lassie, on my eyes and heart wad bide, 
IfI thy troth-possess’d, lassie, and thou wert at my side. 


DONALD OF DUNDEE. 


Young Donald is the blythest lad 
That e’er made love to me; 

When’er he’s by my heartis glad, * 
He seems so gay and free; 

Then on his pipe he plays so sweet, 

And in his plaid he looks so neat, 

It cheers my heart at eve to meet 
Young Donald of Dundee. 


Whene’er I gang to yonder grove, 
Young Sandy follows me, 

‘And fain he wants to be my love, 
But ah! it canna be. 

Though mither frets both air an’ late, 

For me to wed this youth I hate; 

There’s none need hope to gain young Kate 
But Donald of Dundee. 


When last we rang’d the banks of Tay, 
The ring he showed to me, 

And bade me name the bridal-day, 
Then happy wou’d he be. e 

I ken the youth will aye prove kind, 

Nae mair my mither will I mind, 

Mess John to me shall quickly bind 
Young Donald of Dundee. 


91 
JHANIE’S THE LASSIE FOR ME. 


I neither gat plenishing, siller, nor land, 

Wi? the bonny wee lassie that ga’e me her hand; 
But I gat a kind heart, and lovely black e’e, 
And that was worth manors and mailings to me, 


I might had a wife wi’ a boarding-school air, 
Bedizen’d wi’ trinkets and pearlins sae rare; 

A weel stockit purse, and a lang pedigree,— 

But these without true love, wad ne’er suited me. 


Commend me to Jeanie, there’s grace in her air, 
And purity reigns in her bosom sae fair; 

The tones of her voice and the blink of her e’e, 
And her smile sae bewitching, are treasure to me. 


When absent frae her, how my bliss is impair’d, 
Tho’ I dine wi’ the leddies, and drink wi’ the laird; 
But to meet her again, and her sweet bairnies three, 
Is worth mailings, and manors, and kingdoms to me. 


PETER GRAY. 


My song is of a nice young man, 
Whose name was Peter Gray; 
The state where Peter Gray was born, 

, Was Pennsylvania. 


This Peter Gray did fall in love 
All with a nice young girl; 

The name of her, I’m positive, 
Was Liziany Querl. 


When they were going to be wed, 
Her father, he said ‘“‘No!”’ 
And brutally did send her off 
- Beyond the Ohi-o. 


92 


When Peter found his Joye was lost, 
He knew not what to say; 

He’d half a mind to jump into 
The Susquehann-i-a. 


A-trading he went to the west, 
For furs and other skins; 

And there he was in crimson dressed 
By bloody In-ji-ins. 


When Liziany heard the news, 
She straightway went to bed; 

And never did get off from it, 
Until she di-i-d. 


Ye fathers all a warning take— 
Fach one as has a girl; 

And think upon poor Peter Gray 
And Liziany Querl. 


A THOUSAND A YEAR. 


Rozsin Rurr— 
If I had but a thousand a year, Gaffer Green— 
If [had but a thousand a year, 
What a man would I be, and what sights would I see, 
If I had but a thousand a year? . 


GAFFER GREEN— . 
The best wish you could have, take my word; Robin Ruff, 
Would scarce find you in bined or in bare 
But be honest and true, say what would you do, 
If you had but a thousand a year? 


Rosin RuFF— 

I'd do—I scarcely know what, Gaffer Green, 
I'd go—faith, I scarcely know where; 

I'd scatter the chink, and leave others to think, 

If I had but a thousand a year. 


98 


GAFFER GREEN— 
But when you are aged and gray, Robin Ruff, 
And the day of your death it. draws near, 
Say, what with your pains, would you do with your gains, 
If you then had a thousand a year? 


Rosin Rurr— Ar 
I scarcely can tell what you mean, Gaffer Green, 
For your questions are always so queer; 
But as other folks die, I suppose so must I,— _ 
GAFFER GREEN— 
What! and give up your thousand a.year? 


There’s a place that is better than this, Robin Ruff,— 
And I hope in my heart you’ll go there,— 

Where the poor man’s great, though he hath no estate, 
Ay, asifhe’da thousand a year. 


Pa 


THE TINELER’S| WHEDDIN’. 
AIR—Monnymusk. 


In June.when broom in bloom was-seen, 

An’ brackens wav’d fou fresh an’ green, 

An’ warm the sun, wi’ silver sheen, 

; The hills an’ glens did gladden, O. 

Ae day, upon the border bent, 

The tinklers pitch’d their gipsy tent, 

An’ auld an’ young wi’ ae consent, 
Resoly’d to haud a weddin’, O. 


The bridegroom was wild Norman Scott, 
Wha thrice had broke the nuptial knot, 
An’ ance was sentenced to be shot 
For breach o’ martial orders, O; 
His gleesome joe was Madge McKell, 
A spaewife, match for Nick himsel’, 
Wi’ glamour, cantraip, charm and spell, 
She frightit baith the borders, O- 


94 


Nae priest was there, wi’ solemn face, 
Nae clerk to claim o’ crowns a brace; 
The piper an’ fiddler play’d the grace, 

To set their gabs asteerin’ O. 
*Mang beef an’ mutton, pork an’ veal, 
*Mang painches, plucks, an’ fresh cow-heel. 
Fat haggises an’ caller jeel, 

They clawt awa careerin’, oO. 


Fresh saumon newly ta’en in Tweed, 

Saut ling an’ cod, o’ Shetland breed, 

They worry’d till kytes were like to screed, 

>Mang flaggons an’ flasks o’ gravy, O. 

There were raisin kail, an’ sweet-milk saps, 

An’ ewe-milk cheese in whangs and flaps; 

An’ they roopit, to gust their gabs an’ craps, 
Right mony a cadger’s cavie, O. 


The drink flew roun’ in wild galore, 
An’ soon uprais’d a hideous roar, 
Blithe Comus ne’er a queerer core 
Saw seated round his table, O. 
They drank, they danc’d, they swore, they sang, 
They quarrell’d an’ ’greed the hale day lang, 
An’ the wranglin’ that wrang amang the thrang 
Wad match’d the tongues o’ Babel, O. 


The drink gaed done before their drouth, 
That vex’d baith mony a maw an’ mouth, 
It damped the fire 0’ age an’ youth, 
An’ every breast did sadden, O; 

Till three stout louns flew owre the fell, 
At risk o’ life, their.drouth to quell, 
An’ robb’d a neeborin smuggler’s stell 

To carry on the weddin’, O. 


Wi’ thunderin’ shouts they hail’d them back, 

To broach the barrels that werena slack, 

While the fiddler’s plane-tree leg they brak’ 
For layin’ fareweel to whisky, O. 


95 


Delirium seiz’d the roarous thrang, 

The bagpipes in the fire they flang, 

An’ sowtherin’-airns on riggins rang, 
The drink play’d siecan a pliskie, O. 


The sun fell laigh owre Solway’s banks, 
While on they plied their roughsome pranks, 
An’ the stalwart shadows o’ their shanks, 
Wide owre the muir were spreadin’, O. 

Till, heads-an’-thraws, amang the whins, 
They fell wi’ broken brows an’ shins, 
An’ sair-craist banes fill’d mony skins, 

To close the Tinkler’s Weddin’, O. 


MR. FINNEGAN. 


Im a dacent, laboring youth, 
1 wur born in the town of Dunshockalin, 
I’m a widower, now, in my youth, 
Since I buried swate Molly McLaughlin. 
I wur married but once in my life, 
Shure, I’l] never commit such a sin again: 
For I found out, when she wur my wife, 
She wur fond of one Barney McFinnegan, 
Whack fil lil lan ta ra le. 


Her father had castles of mud, 
Of which I wur fond of admiring, 
They were built in the time of the flood, 
For to keep her ancestors dry in. 
When he found I had Molly bespoke, 
First he got fat, and then he got thin again, 
In the struggle, his gizzard he broke, 
- And we had a corpse of McFinnegan. 
Whack fil lil lan ta ra le. 


For conyanience, the corpse was put 
Along with his friends in the barn, shure, 


96 


While some came to it on foot, 
' And others came down from Dunagrinshore. 
My wife she cried and she sobbed, 
I chucked her out twice, and she got in again; 
I gave her a belt in the oak, 
When I wur knocked down by MeFinnegan. 
Whack fil lil Jan ta ra le. 


The bed and the corpse was upset, 

The row it commenced in a minute, gat 
Divil a bit of a stick had J got, 

*Till they broke all the legs of the furniture. 
In faith, as the blood flew about; 

Eyes were shoved out and shoved in again, 
I got a southwestern clout, 

Which knocked me on top of old Finnegan. 

, Whack fil lil lan ta ra le. 


‘How long I was dead, I don’t know, Ba 


But this I know, I wasn’t livin’, shure, . 
I awoke with a pain in my toe, 

For they were-both tied with a ribbon, oe 
I opened my mouth for to spake, 

The shate was rolled up to my chin, again, 
“Och! Molly,” says I, *‘?’m awake,” 

“Oh.” says she, "Yowil be buried wid Finnegan. 

W hack fil lil lan ta ra le. 


I opened my eyes for to see, 
I strove to get up to knock her allen: 
I found that my two toes were tied, 

Like a spoon ina pot of thick stirc boul. 
But I soon got the use of my toes, 
By a friend of the corpse, Larry Galligan, 

Who helped me to get into my ‘clothes, 
For to spread the grass over Finnegan. 
Whack fil lil lan ime le. 


Och! my she divil came home from the spree, 
Full of whisky, and ripe from the buryin’, shure, 


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